THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


•  Stuart  grterne. 


ANGELO.     A  Poem.     i8mo,  gilt  top,  $1,00. 
GIORGIO,   AND    OTHER    POEMS.      i8mo, 

gilt  top,  $1.00. 
BEYOND    THE    SHADOW,    AND     OTHER 

POEMS.     i8mo,  gilt  top,  ji.oo. 
PIERO   DA  CASTlGLIONE.     i8mo,  gilt  top, 

$i.co. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


PIERO    DA   CASTIGLIONE 


STUART   STERNE 

AUTHOR  OF  "ANGELO,"  "GIORGIO  AND  OTHER  POEMS, 
"BEYOND  THE  SHADOW  AND  OTHER  POEMS" 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


Copyright,  1890, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass. ,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PS 


(10$ 


f 


To 
VICTOR   G.  BLOEDE, 

THE   DEAR   ONLY   BROTHER,    COUNSELOR,   AND    FRIEND, 

WHOSE   TRUE   HEART   AND   STRONG  ARM 
HAVE   NEVER   BEEN    FOUND  WANTING,   IN   SUNSHINE  OR   IN   SHADE, 

dJjtg  flabor  of  iLobe 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED   BY 
S.    S. 


904517 


PIERO   DA   CASTIGLIONE. 


"  NAY,  are   they  true,  —  the  strange,  dark  words 

writ  here  ?  — 
*  To   love,  by  heaven  and  earth,  means   soon   or 

late 

To  smart  and  suffer,  —  it  is  sure  as  death.' 
To  smart  and  suffer,  —  and  must  love  be  such, 
Needs  some  time  bring  us  agony  and  pain, 
If  it  be  perfect  love  ?     Yet  ours  has  brought 
But  joy  and  untold  happiness  to  us, 
My  Piero   and   myself.     Ah,  strange ! " 

And  with 

A  puzzled  shadow  on  the  fair,  white  brow, 
Maria  raised  her  head,  till  now  bent  down 
All  eagerly  above  the  ponderous  tome 
Held  open  on  her  knee,  and  let  her  eyes, 
Questioning  and  as  in  search  of  answer,  roam 
About  the  wide  apartment,  still  and  empty 
Save  for  herself,  and  even  at  noon  half  dim 


6  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

With  all  its  dusky  splendor  of  carved  woods 
And  wondrous  gilded  art  and  ornament, 
Blent  in  a  gorgeous  whole,  —  where,  rich  on  walls 
And  vaulted  ceiling,  some  old  master-hand 
Had  conjured  forth  amid  blue,  stainless  skies 
Young  cherubs,  linked  by  garlands  of  gay  flowers 
In  never-ending  dance,  and  where  the  light 
From  a  stained  window  high  above  her  head 
Broke  as  through  precious  gems  of  many  hues, 
And  slowly  with  the  morning  sun  moved  on 
Across  the  marble  floor. 

"  Ay,  strange,  most  strange," 
She  softly  said  again.     "  How  can  it  be  ? 
For  ours  methinks  in  truth  is  perfect  love,  — 
Sweet    Heaven  !  is   not  my  whole  soul  bound  in 

him, 

And  his  in  mine  ?     Yet,  let  me  see  once  more." 
And,  drawing  close  the  cushion  for  her  feet, 
She  let  the  slender  finger  trace  again 
The  long  black  lines  adown  the  yellowed  page, 
Where,  like  a  gleam  from  out  a  ruby's  heart, 
Now  fell  a  fleck  of  crimson,  lighting  up 
The  words  she  read,  slow  and  attentively, 
As  if  she  pondered  each :  — 

"Soul,  art  thou   prepared  to  take  upon  thyself   the 
awful   burden  of  Love  for  Love's    sake   alone, — for 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  7 

thou  needst  hope  for  no  other  reward,  —  to  know 
hunger  and  thirst  without  end,  to  be  pricked  with 
sharp  thorn,  and  pierced  by  a  sword  of  fire?  Then 
art  thou  ready  for  Heaven,  for  thou  shalt  pass  through 
Purgatory.  They  were  a  fair  man  and  woman,  who 
met  half  way  upon  the  path  of  life.  And  a  voice 
from  heaven  said :  '  Ye  shall  be  friends,  but  your 
portion  shall  not  be  equal.  Thou,  woman,  shalt  love 
and  suffer  most,  shalt  give  and  give,  ten  times  and 
thousandfold,  and  receive  but  scant  measure  back 
from  him.  Wilt  thou  wear  such  a  chaplet  as  that, 
set  with  pricking  thorn  ? '  A  shadow  came  upon  the 
woman's  face,  but  she  said, '  I  will.'  And  the  voice 
went  on:  'In  days  of  cloudless  sunshine,  he  will 
share  the  light  with  thee,  knowing  nought  of  thy 
secret  sorrows.  But  when  grief  touches  him,  thou 
shalt  ever  comfort,  find  one  last  drop  of  joy,  one  last 
flower  of  life,  for  him,  —  with  bleeding  feet  kneel 
down  to  bind  up  his  bruises,  —  lead  him  from  dark- 
ness out  to  God.  And  he  shall  take  and  take,  and 
never  count  the  cost.  Thinkest  thou  to  bear  the 
burden  of  such  a  cross  as  that?'  The  light  had 
died  out  of  the  woman's  eyes,  but  she  said  again, 
*  I  will.'  And  the  voice  went  on :  *  And  in  the  end 
he  will  turn  from  thee  to  a  fairer  face,  and  forget 
thee.  Thou  shalt  walk  on  in  thy  desolate  path  alone, 
till  God  calls  thee  home  to  Him.  Canst  thou  drain 
such  a  sharp  cup  of  agony  and  death  as  that  ?  Be- 
think thee  well,  —  it  means  to  be  transfixed  as  with 


8.  PIERO  DA    CASTIGL1ONE 

a  sword  of  fire.'  And  the  woman  sank  upon  her 
knees,  and  from  her  white  lips  burst  the  words,  *  I  will, 
—  for  Love's  sake,  my  God,  I  will.'" 

"  Oh,  she  was  brave 
Past  my  belief  !  "  Maria  cried  again  : 
"  Great  as  the  Blessed  Saints  in  Holy  Story ! 
And  yet,  and  yet,  —  I  do  not  understand,  — 
Would  I  might  find  and  ask  some  wise,  old  head 
To  give  me  answer!     Uncle?     Ah,  no,  no, 
Poor,   dear,   old  man,   what  should  he  know  of 

this ! 

Has  he  not  told  me  oft,  he  'd  done  with  love 
Full  twenty  years  and  over  ?    Twenty  years,  — 
That  was  ere  I  was  born,  —  a  long,  long  time! 
Have  done  with   love,  —  ah,  that   methinks  must 

mean 

With  life  itself !     And  Lisa  will  not  know,  — 
Lisa,  who  is  a  happy  wife  and  mother, 
No  gall  e'er  mingled  with  her  cup  of  love. 
But  Piero,  ah,  my  Piero,  he  must  help  me  ! 
He,  too,  is  young  like  Lisa  and  myself, 
But  wise  and  grave  beyond  his  years,  I  Ve  heard 
My  uncle  say,  —  ay,  and  of  late,  methinks, 
Oft,  oft  too  grave,  and  well-nigh  sad.     Ah  me, 
All  things   are  strange  sometimes  !  "     And   while 

her  head 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  9 

Sank  lower,  and  the  sweet  young  bosom  swelled 
An  instant  with  a  half-unconscious  sigh, 
She  fell  again  to  silent  meditation 
And  self-communing. 

Nor  a  little  while 

Perceived  that  in  the  doorway  leading  out 
Into  the  sunny,  pillared  hall  beyond, 
Stood  he  she  last  had   named,  and  gazed  at  her 
With  deep,  enraptured  eyes,  —  eyes  that  had  fed 
Upon  her  face  and  form  a  thousand  times, 
Yet  never  felt  more  blest  in  dearest  joy 
Than  at  this  moment,  when  the  beauteous  image 
Stood  out  relieved  from  the  dark  ground  beyond, 
Like  some  immortal  picture. 

She  had  pushed 

The  cushion  far  away,  so  but  the  tip 
Of  one  small  foot  now  rested  lightly  there, 
And    clasped   her   hands    behind   her   head,   and 

thus 

Lay  back  well-nigh  full  length  upon  the  couch, 
Her  robe  of   dark  blue  silk,  whose  delicate  folds 
Clung  close,  as  with  a  loving  touch,  revealing 
The  tender,  supple  graces  of  a  form 
Surpassing  fair,  —  a  form  wherein,  for  all 
The  softest,  richest  beauty  of  each  curve, 
Yet  blent  with  every  noble  line  so  much 


IO  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

Of  modest,  virgin  purity  and  pride, 

That  her  most  perfect,  gracious,  gentle  love, 

Yielding  its  wealth  at  but  a  glance  from  him, 

Seemed  ever  as  a  new,  nigh,  strange  delight, — 

A  marvel  scarcely  understood,  whereof 

His  soul  could  never  drink  its  fill,  to  Piero, 

Betrothed  to  her  a  year,  and  now,  ere  long, 

To  wed  her,  —  her,  Maria  !     Ah,  and  how 

Had   God   thought    him,  of    all  who   sought   her 

heart, 

Worthy  to  win  it,  —  pluck  and  wear  forever 
Upon  his  happy  breast  this  fairest  flower 
That  ever  blossomed  on  the  seven  gray  Hills 
Bearing  the  ancient  City  !     Countless  times 
The  humble  thought  had  flashed  upon  his  soul, 
As  now,  when   thus  he  stayed  with  bated   breath 
Still  gazing,  —  marked  the  snowy  throat  encircled 
By  one  slim  row  of  dimly  gleaming  pearl, — 
How  the  fair  fingers  lay  half  buried  'neath 
The  wealth  of  wavy  hair,  bright,  golden  brown, 
Its    masses    coiled   and   bound,    yet    scarce   sub- 
dued, — 

Noted  the  brooding  thought  upon  the  brow 
Half  childlike  still  in  its  white  purity, 
And  how  the  rich,  sweet  lips  were  set,  in  all 
Unconscious  gravity.     Her  downcast  eyes 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  II 

Were  fixed  upon  the  ground,  but  well  he  knew 
What  light  could  kindle  in  their  liquid  depths,  — 
Eyes  like  her  hair,  a  rare  and  wondrous  tint 
Of  golden  brown.    Piero  had  sometimes  said, 
"When    the    Great    Master    fashioned    thee,    He 

loved 

That  hue  so  well  himself,  He  used  his  all, 
Nor  ever  could  that  shade  be  found  again  ; 
So  thou  wert  left  sole  woman  in  the  world 
With  living  sunshine  in  her  hair  and  eyes." 
And  suddenly  thirsting  for  the  look  of  joy, 
That  with  his  coming  ever-  broke  from  them, 
He  moved  to  go  to  her. 

She  turned  and  saw  him, 

And,  with  a  sweet,  faint  flush  on  cheek  and  brow, 
Sprang  up  and  tossed  the  gray,  old  book  aside, 
And  flew  into  his  arms,  meeting  half  way 
The  eager,  passionate  lips  that  sought  her  own  ; 
But  then  looked  up  and  cried :  "Ah,  Piero  mine, 
I  am  so  glad  thou  'rt  come,  —  for  thou  must 

help  me 
Read  a  dark  riddle  !  " 

"  Ah,  a  riddle  !     Pray 

What  can  it  be  that  makes  my  cheery  lark 
So  grave  to-day  ?     I  stood  unseen  by  her 
And    watched    her    for    a    while,"  he    said,   half 

smiling, 


12  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

And  gazing  down  into  her  upturned  face 
With  infinite  tenderness. 

"Come  and  sit  here, 
And  I  will  tell  thee." 

So  she  drew  him  on, 

Back  to  the  couch  and  her  old  place,  herself 
Perching  upon  the  cushion  at  his  feet, 
Took  up  again  the  open  book  and  bid  him, 
"  Now  listen,  Piero  mine,  with  all  thy  ears  !  " 
And   thus,    one    hand    that    he   had    caught   and 

held, 

Close  clasped  in  his,  the  other  on  the  page, 
She  read  to  him,  in  low,  melodious  voice 
That  sometimes  faltered,  the  same  sad,  old  tale 
Conned  o'er  before  alone,  not  looking  up 
Until,  the  bitter  ending  reached,  she  paused, 
And  eyes  grown  dark  with  unshed  tears,  at  last 
Were  slowly  lifted  to  his  face. 

But  Piero, 

Unmindful  of  her  bidding,  had  but  watched 
The  fleeting  lights  and  shadows  on  her  brow, 
Nor  closely  caught  the  meaning  of  the  words ; 
And  when   she    asked,    "Beseech   thee,   tell   me 

now, 

Can  love  be  such  as  this  ? "  made  answer  :  "  Nay, 
Give  me  the  book,  —  I  fear  I  have  not  heard." 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  13 

"  Oh,  Love,  and  wherefore  not  ?  "  she  gently  said, 
Putting  the  tome  into  his  hands.     And  then, 
While  he  fell  now  to  study  of  the  page, 
She,  with  one  elbow  resting  on  her  knee, 
The  fair,  bent  head  supported  on  her  palm, 
Sat  watching  him  in  turn,  —  her  Piero,  hers, 
In  worshipful,  deep  silence. 

Sweet  Madonna, 

Ah,  how  she  loved  him !    Words  could  never  tell, 
Though  she  might  strive  a  thousand  happy  years  ! 
How  handsome,  yet  how  simple  too,  he  looked, 
To-day  and  ever!     That  fine  velvet  garb 
Of  dusky  hue  became  him  wondrous  well, 
Set  off  his  stately  height  and  well-knit  limbs, 
Where  strength  and  grace  were  blent,  —  a  noble- 
man, 

Ay,  it  might  be,  a  very  king  disguised, 
All  having  eyes  to  see  had  surely  said, 
What  though  they  found  him  on  the  common 

road, 

In  beggar's  raiment.     For  unconsciously 
All  his  whole  presence   spoke  the  princely  blood 
Of  the  proud  house  that  traced  its  lineage  back 
In  the  dim  past  for  many  centuries. 
One  of  his  ancestors,  he  oft  had  told  her. 
Speaking  of  him  with  deepest  reverence, 


14  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Fired  by  the  holy  ardor  of  his  time, 

Had   tacked  the  scarlet  cross  upon  his  shoulder, 

And  leaving  wife  and  children,  with  the  cry, 

"  God  wills,  God  wills  it !  "  sallied  forth  among 

The  first  Crusaders,  who  set  out  to  free 

The  Holy  Sepulchre.     Ah,  yes,  she  thought, 

A  crown  had  set  most  fair  on  those  dark   locks, 

Through  which  she  sometimes,  in  a  playful  hour, 

Twined  her  glad  fingers,  —  surely  he  was  born 

To   reign   o'er   some    great    kingdom  !      And    in 

truth, 

Upon  his  face,  for  all  its  youth,  and  all 
The  glow  of  joy  that  but  just  now  suffused  it,  — 
On  the  bronzed  cheek   and  proudly  curving  lip, 
The  firm,  broad   brow,  and  deep,  dark,  steadfast 

eye,— 

There  lay  a  touch,  not  cold  and  hard,  mayhap, 
But  stern  and  grave,  a  something  giving  sign 
Of  strange  austerity  within,  —  the  power 
Of  an  indomitable,  dauntless  will, 
Chiming  but  ill  with  tender  years. 

In  but 

Those  years   alone,  he  was  not  much  her  senior, 
And  yet  Maria  oft  looked  up  to  him 
With  something  like  a  sense  akin  to  awe 
Mingling  with  all  her  love,  as  one  who  ranked 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  15 

Far,  far  above  herself,  when,  as  he  sat 
Discoursing  with  her  uncle,  and  his  friends, 
On  many  deep,  mysterious  themes,  she  heard 
Sage    words     and    subtlest    thought    and    wisest 

counsel 

Fall  from  the  lips  whose  modest  eloquence 
Compelled  his  stubborn  elders  to  assent, 
Well-nigh  against  their  will.     But  yet  for  that 
She  loved  him,  mayhap,  all  the  more,  for  oh, 
Had  she  not  found  the  secret  to  call  forth 
At  any  moment   on  those  grave,  young  lips 
The  smile  that   first  had  touched  and  drawn  her 

heart,  — 

The  radiant,  winsome  smile,  that,  like  a  gleam 
Of  sunlight  breaking  from  a  sombre  cloud, 
Transformed  his  face  with  beauty  all  its  own  ? 
Had  she  not  seen,  again  and  yet  again, 
That  quiet  eye  —  whence  sometimes  for  an  instant 
There    leaped   a   strange,    dark   fire  —  melt   sud- 
denly 

To  passionate  tenderness  at  sight  of  her,  — 
Poor,  small,  unworthy  her? 

And  thus  even  now 

Did  he  look  up,  half  smiling  and  half  grave, 
Asking,     "  Pray,    Love,    what    puzzles     thee    in 
this? 


1 6  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

This  was  not  love,  —  not  truest  love,  —  and  he 

Surely  was  but  a  poor  and  petty  soul, 

Bound    up    in   self.     Whence    came    this   strange 

old  tome?" 

"  I  found  it  there  among  those  other  books 
My  uncle  long  has  treasured  up,"  she  answered, 
Waving  her  hand.     And   then :    "  And   so   thou 

sayst 
This   was   not   love,    true    love,  —  not   love    like 

ours; 

Ah,  Piero  mine,  I  am  so  glad!     For  think, 
Were  it  not  strange  and  mournful  past  belief, 
If  faithful,  truest  love  could  break  a  heart, 
As    hers    whose    tale    is    here  —  ah,   poor,    poor 

soul  — 

Broke  at  the  last ! "     And  thoughtful,  half  aloud, 
As  speaking  to  herself,  she  said  once  more  :  — 

"  '  Soul,  art  thou  prepared  to  know  hunger  and  thirst 
without  end,  to  be  pricked  with  sharp  thorn,  and  pierced 
by  a  sword  of  flre  ?  '  " 

"Nay,"  he  repeated, 
Confirming     his     past    words,  —  "  that    was    not 

love." 

And,  tossing  in  his  turn  the  woful  book 
Down  half  impatiently,  bent  over  her  : 
"But  ah,  Beloved,  thou  must  surely  know, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  \J 

'Tis  possible  that  there  may  some  time  come 

Even  to  a  deathless,  deepest,  truest  love  — 

Ay,  soonest,  it  may  be,  of  all,  to  such !  — 

A  day  of  suffering  and  dark  agony, — 

That    God    may   bid    two    souls    made    one    by 

love 

To  part  and  say  farewell,  renounce  forever 
On  earth,  perchance,  their  sweetest  hope  and  joy, 
For  love  of  Him,  —  at  some  great  duty's  call, 
Honor,  or  faith,  or  country.     Ay,  consider, 
If  our  beloved  land  were  up  in  arms 
Against  some  foreign  foe,  must  not  her  sons 
Obey  the  summons,  —  gladly  offer  up 
Not  blood  and  life  alone,  in  her  defense, 
But  love  itself,  a  thousand  times  more  dear? 
Or  think  upon  some  sacred  cause,  like  that 
Of    those    two     men    of    ancient     times,  —  thou 

knowst  ?  — 

One  whereof  pledged  himself  to  give  his  life 
Even  for  his  friend's,  whose  own  was  forfeited 
If  he  did  not  return  to  set  him  free 
Within  the  hour  assigned." 

She  looked  at  him 
Like  one  whose   thoughts   had   been  far  off,  and 

scarce 
Well  followed  all  his  words,  but  rousing  now, 


1 8  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE 

As  from  a  waking  dream,  she  answered,  "  Yes, 
I  Ve  heard  the  tale,  but  half  forgot  again  ; 
Pray  tell  it  over." 

"Why,  one  would  have  slain 
The  tyrant  that  had  long  oppressed  the  land, 
But  failed,  was  taken  and  condemned  to  die, 
But  being  wived,  ay,  and  a  father  too, 
Prayed    three    days'  grace,  till  he   might  set    his 

house 

In  order  for  his  children,  while  his  friend  — 
And  he,  't  is  said,  betrothed  and  soon  to  wed  — 
Surrendered  to  the  .tyrant, — in  his  stead 
Prepared  to  suffer  death  if  he  delayed." 
And  now  he  saw  she  hung  upon  his  lips, 
A  deep  light  kindling  in  her  eager  eyes. 
"Ah,  yes,"  broke  softly  from  her,  as  he  paused; 
"Yes,  now  do  I  remember  all.     But  pray 
Go  on,  go  on  ! " 

"And  but  by  one  hair's  breadth, 
In  truth  had  suffered  thus.     For  his  poor  friend, 
For  all  the  breathless,  hot  despatch  he  made, 
Spent  and  past  hope,  arrived  but  just  in  time 
To  stay  the  deadly  sword,  raised  up  to  smite 
The  patient  neck  beneath.     Out  on  the  road 
And   fire   and   flood,  a   thousand   stops  unlocked 

for, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  19 

Had  long  delayed  him  ;   and  at  home  the  wife, 
Who  clung  about  his  neck  with  thousand  tears, 
Beseeching  him  to  tarry  past  the  hour, 
Let  his  friend  die,  ere  he  thus  widow  her, 
And  make  his  children  orphans,  —  even  as  she, 
The   other's  Love,  had   sought  to  hold  him  back 
In    her  white    arms,  and    with    wild    plaints   and 

kisses 

Prayed  him  to  let  fierce  justice  take  its  course, 
Nor  slay  himself  and  her,  playing  the  fool 
As  hostage  for  his  friend." 

"  How,"  asked  Maria, 
And,  slowly  rising,  stood  erect  and  tall, 
The  slender  form  dilating  with  some  new, 
Unconscious  dignity,  "  how,  both  of  them, 
These  women,  bore  such  poor  and  petty  souls 
That   they   had    naught    but    feeble    plaints    and 

tears  ? 
Neither   found    power,    what    though    her   secret 

heart 
Might  bleed   and   break,  yet   with   brave   lips   to 

say,  — 

'  Beloved,  go !   redeem  thy  pledge,  perform 
The  sacred  task  whereto  God  summons  thee ! 
It  may  be  that  these  clinging  eyes  and  hands 
Shall  loose  thee,  yet  my  soul  must  hold  forever 


20  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Thy  deathless  image  dearer  than  before 

For  that  immortal  glory  of  thine  own  ! '  " 

"  Ah ! "  Piero  cried,  and  rising  in  his  turn, 

Something  like  wonder  gleaming  in  his  eyes, 

Took  into  his  one  slender,  yielding  hand,  — 

"  Couldst    thou    do    this,    Love,  —  bid    me    go  ? 

And  is 

The  soul  of  my  sweet,  beauteous,  tender  bird 
In  truth  cast  in  such  high,  heroic  mould  ? " 
"  Yes,"  she  said  gently,  with  a  still,  deep  fire 
That  wholly  wrapped  her,  in  the  far  off-gaze, 
And  with  divine  simplicity  accepting 
The  highest  praise,  —  like  one  who,  having  burst 
In  some  supernal  hour  of  sacred  life 
The  bonds  of  self,  can  stand  aloof  and  see, 
And  calmly  judge  itself,  as  not  itself,  — 
"  Ah,  Piefo,  yes,  methinks  that  I  could  give 
Thy    life    and    mine,  —  for    mine    must   go    with 

thine,  — 

If  thou  wert  called  in  some  great,  godly  cause ! 
Methinks  that  hearts  knit  by  such  love  as  ours 
Must  be  made  strong  for  any  sacrifice; 
Ay,  in  the  very  greatness  of  their  love, 
Find  power  to  do  God's  bidding,  —  part,  if  need 

be, 
For  a  brief  space,  while  life  on  earth  endures, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE  21 

For  naught  that  could  in  life  or  death  betide 
Could  bring  us  real  parting,  —  now  divide 
What  God  himself  in  tender  mercy  joined, 
Made  one  for  aye !  " 

"  Maria !  "  he  cried  out, 
In  faltering  accents,  shaken  to  the  soul. 
And  then,  as  with  a  burst  of  strange,  swift  joy, 
"  Ah,  God  be  thanked,  —  nay,  all  is  well,  I  mean, 
That  He  has  let  me  find  and  know  thee  thus ! " 
And  so  seized  both  her  hands,  and  covered  them 
With  fervent  kisses,  and  for  one  long  instant 
Held  them  close  clasped  against  his  heart. 

But  she, 

Suddenly  withdrawing  them,  twined  clinging  arms 
About  his  neck,  and  laid  her  cheek  to  his, 
With  the  low  words,  "  O  Piero,  Piero  mine !  " 
While  he  in  rapture  strained  her  to  his  breast. 
And  when  at  last  he  suffered  her  to  speak 
Once  more,  "  Ah,  Piero,  Piero  !     Nay,  I  know 
Of  but  one  parting  that  could  break  my  heart, 
And  slay  my  soul  itself,  if  that  could  die, — 
If  thou,  grown  cold,  shouldst  ever  cease  to  love 
me!" 

"  Beloved  !  "  he  exclaimed  again,  half  startled, 
In  passionate,  yet  beseeching  protest ;  "  Nay, 


22  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

How   sayest   thou,  —  what   strange   thoughts   are 

these !   unless 

My  own  soul,  lost,  rejected,  perish  first, 
Must  it  not  cleave  to  thine  forevermore  ? 
As  all  impossible  "  — 

But  she  broke  in, 

"Thou'st  heard  the  story  of  that  spirit  sent 
To  Purgatory?     No?     Then  I  will  tell  thee." 

And,  gliding  now  from  his  reluctant  arms, 
Slipped  back  upon  the  cushion  at  his  feet, 
And  with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees, 

her  eyes 

Fixed  for  a  time  upon  the  ground,  began  :  — 
"There    was    a    poor,  fair   maid   once,  who    had 

sinned 

In  early  youth,  and  dying  been  condemned 
To  thousand  years  of  fire  in  Purgatory. 
And  while  she  tarried  'mid  the  scorching  flames, 
Saint  Peter,  standing  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
Heard   how  she   ceaseless    day   and    night   cried 

out, 

In  piteous  tones,  ' Andrea,  O  Andrea!' 
And  yet  again,  '  Andrea  ! '  —  and  at  last, 
Moved  to  compassion,  went  to  her  and  asked, 
1  Why  dost  thou  ever  call  on  that  one  name  ? ' 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  2$ 

1  He  was  my  Love  on  earth/  she  said,  '  and  now, 

Since  I  have  left  him,  dwells  alone,  and  spent 

With  bitter  anguish.     Could  I  see  but  once, 

Once  more,  his  face  beloved,  willingly, 

In  patient  silence,  would  I  then  endure 

The    fiercest    pangs  of   fire ! '      And    good    Saint 

Peter 
Bade    her,    *  Depart,    but   haste   thee    back    full 

soon, 

For  the  fulfillment  of   thy  penalty ! ' 
So  the  poor  soul  sped  earthward  to  her  Love, 
But  found  him  not  alone  and  sore  with  grief, 
But  in  loud  company,  with  merry  friends, 
Filled  to  the  lips  with  laughter,  wine,  and   song, 
Holding  another  woman  in  his  arms. 
And  silently,  without  a  moan  or  tear, 
The  soul  crept  slowly  back,  and  only  said, 
(  Saint  Peter,  I  am  here.'     But  he  for  answer, 
And  setting  half  ajar  the  Gates  of  Heaven, — 
4  Nay,  child,  it  is  enough,  —  thou  art  forgiven  ! 
In  that  one  moment  thou  hast  suffered  more 
Than  in  a  thousand  fiery  years  of  Hell,  — 
God  bids  thee  enter  here ! ' 

"  See,  Piero  mine," 
Maria  ended,  and  looked  up  at  him 
With  eyes  all  brimming  over;   "I  can  feel 


24  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

That  state  of  piercing  anguish,  which  outweighed 
A  thousand  years  of  Hell.     Oh,  she  in  truth 
Was  given  to  know  the  sword  of   fire,  and  drain 
The  cup  of  death,  —  and  such  it  were  to  me  !  " 

But  Piero  suddenly  bent  a  knee  and  cried, 
All  his  impassioned  soul  in  voice  and  eye, 
"  My  blessed  Love  !     My  Lady  of  Sweet  Mercy  ! 
Have  I  not  told  thee  oft  and  oft,  no  woman 
Even  for  a  fleeting  moment  touched  this  heart, 
That  pride  and  beauty  ever  moved  before 
My  heedless  glance  as  but  an  empty  show, 
Till  I  first  saw  thee,  —  looked  upon  thy  face, 
Then  suddenly,  as  by  a  magic  touch, 
The  stony  portals  of  my  heart  flew  wide, 
And  thou  didst  enter  in,  its  lawful  Queen, 
To  take  possession  of  thy  throne,  and  rule 
Forever  there,  through  life  and  death  supreme  ! 
Art  thou  content,  —  dost  thou   believe   and   trust 

me, 
My  Saint,  my  God-sent  Angel?" 

A  swift  smile 

Of  deep,  unutterable  joy  and  radiance 
Broke  o'er  the  young  face,  all  too  grave  till  now, 
And  bending  over  him,  where  still  he  knelt, 
She  silently  put  quivering  lips  to  his. 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  2$ 

Then,  while  he  rose  and  drew  her  up  with  him, 
She  hastily  dashed  the  springing  tears  away, 
Whispering      upon     his     breast,      "Ah,     yes,     I 

know,  — 

I  am  but  foolish,  like  a  wayward  child  ! 
Forgive  me,  my  Beloved.     I  have  read 
Too  long,  mayhap,  in  those  old  books,  and  they 
Have  made  me  sad  !  "    And  then  :    "  But  come," 

she  cried, 

In  swiftly  changing  mood,  as  if  her  soul 
Flashed    suddenly   from    dark    waters    into    sun- 
light, 

"  Let  us  be  happy  now,  as  is  our  wont ! 
And  oh,  my  Piero,  I  well-nigh  forgot, 
I  Ve   something  fair  to  show  thee,  —  wait  an  in- 
stant, 
And  I  will  bring  it ! " 

And  so  sped  away 

Swift  and  light-footed,  leaving  him  to  gaze 
On  her  retreating  form.     For  many  moments 
He  stood  immovable,  then  starting  turned 
And   laid   one    heavy  hand,  whose   fingers   trem- 
bled, 

Across  his  eyes.     And  when  he  drew  it  back 
All  the  glad  light  had  faded  from  his  face, 
Leaving  it  strangely  ashen,  wan,  and  old. 


26  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

Then,  slowly  following,  he  passed  back  again 
Into  the  sunlit  hall,  —  that  opened  out 
Upon  the  pillared  corridor,  and  further 
Through  many  noble,  stately  rooms  beyond, — 
And  waited  there  Maria,  who  came  back 
Bearing  in  both  her  arms  a  great,  white  roll, 
That  she  tossed  down    upon  a  chair,  exclaiming, 
In  merry  tones,  "  Ah,  look  now,  Piero  mine, 
What  uncle's  good  old  friend,  the  Signor  Carlo, 
But  just  returned  from  his  long  journey  East, 
Has  brought  for  me !  " 

And  swiftly  opening  out 
The  shining  fabric,  snowy  fold  on  fold, 
Spread  out,  for  Piero's  gaze  and  admiration, 
A  marvelous  texture,  in  good  truth,  —  a  woof 
Finer  than  cobweb,  richest  silk,  that  gleamed 
With  dim,  mysterious  sheen,  like  molten  pearl, 
Shot  here  and  there  with  single  threads  of  gold, 
That  sent  through  light  and  shadow,  in  and  out, 
Pale  darts  of  quivering  fire. 

"  It  is  to  be 

My  wedding  gown,"  she  said,  with  drooping  lids, 
Then,  with   a   sweet,  faint    flush,  glanced    up   at 

him, 

Half  smiling  and  half  grave,  and  added  softly, 
"And  —  and  I  think,  my  Piero,  thou  hast  said 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  2/ 

That  thou  couldst  wish  that  happiest  of  all  days 
Might  come  not  further  off  than  Easter  time !  " 

He  bowed  his  head,  as  if  in  mute  assent, 
And  she,  intent  upon  her  robe,  marked  not  ^ 
That  he  had  answered  her  shy,  loving  glance 
With  but  the  strange,  dim  shadow  of  a  smile, 
Nor  how  the  hot,  swift   blood  rushed   for  an  in- 
stant 

To  the  dark,  altered  brow,  but  asked   again, 
"  Dear  Love,  is  not  this  wondrous   fair  in  truth  ? 
Ah,  and  I  think  it  will  become  me  well !  " 

And,  acting  on  a  sudden,  merry  thought, 

She    drew  and   draped,   with    deft,    most   nimble 

hands, 

The  soft,  white  folds  about  her  throat  and  bosom, 
And  from  the  slender  belt  down  to  the  floor, 
Pinning  them  fast  with  a  long,  silver  dart, 
Plucked   hastily  from   her  hair.     And   then,  once 

more, 

Artless,  like  some  sweet,  eager  child,  looked  up, 
And  gayly  said,  "  'T  will  be  like  this,  perchance,  — 
And  shall  I  please  thee,  Piero  mine?" 

"  Beloved, 
Dost  thou  not  ever  please  me,"  he  began, 


28  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

But  paused  and  turned   from   her,  and  gazed  in- 
tently 

Down  the  long  corridor,  where  his  quick  ear 
Had   caught   the   sound  of  coming  steps.     "  Me- 

thinks 

Here  's  Lisa,  —  ay,  't  is  she  !  "  he  slowly  said, 
And  so,  with  face  averted  from  the  vision 
Too  passing  beauteous,  and  a  deep-drawn  sigh, 
As  of  relief,  watched  her  approaching.     Lisa, 
Child    of    the    fair   young    nurse    who    once   had 

nourished, 

With  all  a  mother's  tender  love  and  care, 
The  orphaned  babe  Maria,  and  her  own, 
At  the  same  faithful  breast,  the  little  ones, 
Each  without  other  comrade,  sharing  long 
All  joys  and  griefs,  —  ripening  to  womanhood 
Well-nigh  like  sisters,  and  beneath  one  roof, 
Till  Lisa,  grown  a  tall,  most  comely  lass, 
Had  wed  young  Bartolo,  a  noble  fellow, 
And  her  devoted  lover  from  a  boy, 
But  still  felt  free  from  out  her  humble  home 
To  come  and  go  as  pleased  her  at  the  mansion, 
To  see  her  sweet  Madonna. 

She  came  now 

Clad  half  in  peasant  garb,  as  was  her  wont, 
A  bright-red  kerchief  round  the  shapely  throat, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  29 

And  many  strangely  fashioned  golden  pins 
Wrought    through    the    curly   hair,   that    matched 

most  well 
The    clear,    brown,   ruddy    cheek    and    sparkling 

eye,-- 

Came  with  light-tripping  foot,  but  when  she  saw 
The  .two  together,  half  drew  back,  exclaiming  : 
"  I  crave  your  pardon,  but  I  did  not  know 
The  Signer  Piero  here  ! "     And  then  perceived 
Maria's  wondrous,  white  magnificence, 
And,  swift  to  guess  its  meaning,  suddenly  started 
Forward  again,  close  to  Maria's  side, 
Striking  her  hands  together  in  dismay, 
And  cried  aloud  : 

"  Madonna,  nay,  beseech  you, 
Away  with  that,  at  once !     Have  you  not  heard 
To   wear   your   wedding-gown    before    the    bride- 
groom, 

Even  for  an  hour  before  the  rightful  time, 
Is  an  ill  omen,  that  portends,  they  say, 
You  '11  never  don  it  on  the  day  you  hoped  ?  " 

"  Ah,  we  are  not  afraid,  my  Piero,  are  we  ? " 
Maria  said,  and  strove  to  laugh,  but  finding 
No  happy  answer  in  his  face,  the  smile 
Died  on  her  lips.     She,  too,,  grew  grave  again, 


3O  riERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  then,  as  if  in  unacknowledged  fear, 
Began  at  once,  hastily  and  helped  by  Lisa, 
To  take  the  arrow  from  her  belt,  unwind 
The  softly  clinging  folds  from  round  her  form, 
Till  she  stood  free,  and  Lisa  gathered  up 
The  precious  fabric  with  much  tenderness, 
And   smoothed    and   stroked  and  rolled  it  rever- 
ently 
Back  to  its  former  shape. 

"  Dear  Love,"  said  Piero, 
And  drew  her  to  the  window's  deep  recess, 
"  I  must  away  now !  " 

"  Ah,  so  soon  ?  "  she  asked  ; 
"  Wilt  thou  not  stay  and  sup  ?  " 

But  he,  unheeding, 

And  kindling  with  a  sudden  fire,  went  on  : 
"  But  I  have  news  for  thee,  —  ah,  think,  Maria, 
Within  a  week  we  '11  have  that  wondrous  man 
I  've  told  thee  of,  the  Fra  Girolamo, 
Here  in  the  city !     He  will  preach  three  days 
At  San  Miniato,  Convent  of  his  Order, 
That  is  to  welcome  him,  its  honored  guest, 
And   mayhap  in  the  field   beyond,  for  thousands, 
Past  doubt,  will  flock  to  hear  him,  who  from  God 
Bears  power  to  stir  the  hearts  and  souls  of  men 
As  mortal  tongue  has  never  stirred  them  yet. 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  31 

Ay,  and  thou,  too,  must  come  with  me,  Maria, 
To  drink  a  draft  from  that  deep  fount  of  life  !  " 

"Why,  yes,  my  Piero,  surely  if  thou  wish 
I  will  so  !  "     Yet  the  rosy  lips  were  pursed 
As  if  in  half   displeasure.     "  But  I  '11  tell  thee, 
I  do  not  love  this  wpndrous  man  of  thine  !  — 
Nay,  let  me  speak  !     'T  is  since  thou  didst  of  late 
Go  on  thy  journey  North,  and  hear  his  voice, 
That  thou  hast  been  so  grave  and  silent,  —  more 
Than  was  thy  wont  of  old,  —  ay,  and  at  times 
So  hopeless  far  away  from  love  and  me  ! 
Ah,  surely,  though  I  may  not  often  speak, 
I  see  it, — feel  it,  here!" 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  mayhap 
'T  is    as    thou   sayst,  —  but    God    shall   make   all 

well ! " 

He  hastily  said,  and  bending  kissed  her  brow 
In  half-paternal  fashion,  and  then  turned 
And  strode  away  without  another  word, 
Maria  gazing  after  him  in  wonder 
Till  he  had  vanished. 

Ah,  what  could  he  mean  ! 
She   thought  with  troubled  brow.     "  Sometimes  I 

fear  me 
Some  secret  trouble  weighs  upon  his  soul, 


32  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE, 

Some  grief  I  cannot  fathom  !     Yet  I  know 
He  '11  some  time  tell  me  all,  and  I  will  bide 
His  own  good  time,  as  patient  as  I  may." 
Then  whispered  softly  to  herself,  while  now 
A  happy  smile  stole  back  upon  her  lips: 
"  Ay,  and  he  loves  me,  —  loves  me  !     What  may 

fall  • 

In  life  or  death,  his  soul  is  mine  forever. 
That  is  enough,  —  I  could  endure  all  else, — 
Bless  him  and  guard,  sweet  Saints  of  Heaven !  " 

And  thus 

Turned  back  at  last  to  busy  Lisa,  asking : 
"And    hast    thou    brought    thy    little    ones   with 

thee, 
Tito  and  baby  'Detta?" 

"Nay,  not  her, 

Madonna  mine,  but  Tito  waits  below." 
"  Ah,  then,  I  pray  thee,  bring  him  up  at  once, 
I  long  to  see  his  merry  eyes  awhile, 
And    when    I  Ve    done  with    him    I  '11    send   him 

home, 
Soon  as  thou  wilt. 

So  little  Tito  came, 

A  winsome,  tiny  fellow,  three  years  old, 
In    whose     young,    sturdy    limbs     and     glowing 

cheeks, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  33 

And  laughing  eyes  and  sunny  curls,  there  showed 
His    father's    strength,    blent    with    his    mother's 

beauty, 

And  who  was  nothing  loth  now  to  be  left 
Here  with  the  "dear  Padrona"  he  had  known 
Since  first  he  saw  the  sunlight. 

And  Maria 

Sported  about,  turning  well-nigh  herself 
A  child  again,  in  self-forgetful  glee,  — 
Played   chase  with  him  a  time,  and  hide-and-seek 
Behind  the  chairs  and  couches,  in  and  out 
Among  the  pillars  of  the  corridor, — 
Stood  watching,  half  amused,  half  tenderly, 
The  small,  brave  feet,  that  with  such  fearless 

speed 

Twinkled  across  the  shining  marble  floor ; 
And    then,  at    last,  —  both    flushed    and    out    of 

breath,  — 
Snatched  him  up  laughing  in  her  arms,  and  bore 

him 

Off  to  the  open  window,  that  o'erlooked 
The  great,  old  City,  on  her  seven  hills, 
Showed  him  the  hoary  roofs  and  noble  spires 
That  in  the  light  of  evening  burned  just  now 
Like     mellow    gold,    and    where     more     distant 

gleamed 


34  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

The  sluggish  yellow  river  in  the  sun  ; 
Then  on  a  soft,  bright  carpet  set  him  down, 
And  brought  a  chest  of  blocks,  and  deftly  built 
Most  wondrous  bridges,  towers,  and  citadels  ; 
While  Tito  first  looked  on  with  wide-eyed  wonder, 
But  suddenly  stretching  out  one  chubby  hand 
With  timid  touch,  then  boldly  tumbled  all 
Into  swift  ruin,  with  a  shout  of  wild, 
Delighted  laughter. 

Thus  the  merry  game 
Went  on  full  long,  until  Maria  said: 
"  Now,  little  man,  thou  must  be  architect 
Thyself  a  time,  and  while  thou  work'st  I  '11  try 
That  new,  sweet  song  once  more  I  've  learned  of 

late, 

Yet  learned  but  half,  and  would  my  Piero  soon 
Might  hear  as  fair  as  may  be." 

And  with  this 

Rose  lightly  from  the  floor,  and  went  to  sit 
Upon  a  couch,  took  up  her  lute  laid  there, 
And  with  a  touch  upon  its  strings,  sang  out 
In  low,  melodious  voice  :  — 

"  O  joy  of  life,  O  joy  of  love  ! 
When  cloudless  skies  are  blue  above, 
In  starry  Spring  ! 
When  happy  warblers  on  the  wing 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE  35 

Do  mating  build  their  nests  and  sing,  — 
O  joy  of  life  ! 

"  O  joy  of  life,  O  joy  of  love  ! 
When  God  in  cloudless  skies  above 
Knits  heart  to  heart, 
That  time,  nor  fate,  nor  death  can  part, — 

"That  time,  nor  fate,  nor  death  can  part,"  — 

She  said  twice  over, 
Humming  the  air  again  and  yet  again, 
Yet  somehow  always  faltered  at  that  line, 
And  so  began  once  more,  "  O  joy  of  life," 
But  suddenly  paused,  and  sadly  shook  her  head, 
Then  with  a  sigh  put  down  the  instrument, 
Murmuring,   "  Ah,    no,  —  of  what   avail,  —  I    can- 
not ! 

Methinks  I  Ve  half  forgot  the  simple  tune, 
Nor  does  my  voice  ring  true.     How  strange,  how 

strange 

He  was  to-day,  my  Piero  !     Nay,  I  would 
That,  after  all,  I  had  not  let  him  go 
So  all  unquestioned  !  "     And  in  truth  the  sun 
Would  not  shine  fully  out  to-day,  —  she  bowed 
A  brow  once  more  grown   pensive  on  her  hand, 
And  fell  again  to  musing  deep  and  long, 


36  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

Till  a  triumphant  shout  from  Tito  roused  her, 
Who  had  built  up  some  marvelous  pile  alone. 
She  went  to  him  and  kissed  him  with  much  praise, 
But  then  said  gently :    "  Now,  my  little  one, 
Thou   must  go    home,  —  thou    shalt    soon    come 

again,  ' 

But  for  this  evening,  Sweet,  thy  poor  Maria 
Is  weary  past  her  wont!" 

Seven  days  rolled  by, 

Swiftly  as  countless  other  weeks  had  passed, 
In  long  accustomed  ways  of  peace  and  joy, 
And  daily  visits,  long  or  brief,  from  Piero. 
And  though  Maria  marked  again  sometimes 
That  cloud  of  brooding,  fitful  thought  in  him, 
And  rapt  aloofness,  but  a  touch  from  her 
Had  power  to  break  the  spell,  and  through  it  all 
He  proved  so  full  of  passionate  tenderness, 
And  deep,  devoted  love,  she  half  forgot 
The  sadness  and  vague  fears  thatv  haunted  her 
On  that  one  gloomy  day. 

And  now  had  come 

The  hour  when  she  must  go  with  him  to  hear 
The  Fra  Girolamo,  arrived  of  late, 
His  fame,  like  to  a  clarion's  stirring  blast, 
Going  before  him  swift-winged   through  the  land. 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  37 

From  every  town  and  hamlet  he  had  passed. 

Wherever  men  were  met  upon  his  path, 

With  ears  to  hear  and  tongues  to  speak,  rang  out 

Praise  of  his  name,  and  marvel  of  his  deeds  ; 

The  miracles  of  passing  grace  he  wrought, 

This  messenger  elect  of  God,  they  said, 

To  purge  the  world  of  sin,  and  save  men's  souls 

The  sun  hung  low  upon  his  western  course 
When  Piero  and  Maria  reached  the  field 
Beyond  the  cloister,  whose  gray  walls  rose  stern 
And  silent  through  the  golden  air.     They  came 
Later  than  most,  and  now  must  make  their  way 
Through  jostling  crowds,  that   still  each   moment 

grew, 

To  where  good  Lisa  and  her  Bartolo 
Had  kept,  with  no  small  pains,  a  place  for  them, 
Near  the  great    tree,    beneath    whose    spreading 

branches 

A  rude,  low  pulpit  was  set  up,  and  there, 
Ay,  there,    even    now,    stood    he,    the    marvelous 

man, 
And    pushing    from    his    brow   the    long,    brown 

hood, 

Let  his  keen  glance  range  o'er  the  multitude, 
Who  from  the  city,  and  from  far  and  wide 


38  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Beyond   its   walls,    had  flocked  to   hear   him,  — 

hundreds 

On  hundreds,  till  a  close-packed,  surging  sea 
Of  eager,  up-turned  faces  met  his  view. 
All  ranks  and  stations  drawn  together  here,  — 
Workmen  and  masters,  artisans  and  peasants, 
In  leather  aprons,  or  bright  caps   and   kerchiefs, 
Some  with  their  wives  beside  them,  and  a  child 
Held  at  her  breast,  or  perched  upon  his  shoulder, 
And  close  upon  them,  mayhap,  group  on  group 
Of  noble  ladies  with  their  cavaliers, 
Gorgeous  in  silks  and  gems,  —  a  soldier  there, 
Next  a  grave  judge's   cap  and  gown,  and  yonder 
A  ragged   beggar  leaning  on  his  crutch 
Beside  a  proud  patrician's  lofty  mien ; 
And  everywhere,  dotting  the  gayer  tints 
As  with  a  sombre  shadow,  dark-hued  robes, 
Gray,  brown,  or  black,  of  monks  and  friars. 

Maria, 

Standing  upon  a  stone  found  'neath  her  feet, 
That  made  her  tall  as  Piero,  with  his  arm 
Thrown  round  her  tenderly,  but  half  concealed 
By  his  wide  mantle  drawn  about  them  both, 
Long  watched  the  motley  throng  till  Piero  whis- 
pered 

Close   to   her  ear,    "Love,   pray  thee,   mark  his 
words  !  " 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  39 

As  with  the  lifting  of  the  Frate's  hand 
An   awestruck   hush   fell  on  the  assembled   thou- 
sands, 

And  low  at  first  his  voice  ere  long  rang  out 
Deep,  rich,  and  rolling  as  an  organ's  peal, 
Drawing  all  wandering  eyes  upon  himself,  — 
A  frail,  slight  form,  clad  in  his  monkish  garb, 
The  cord  about  his  loins,  yet  seeming  taller 
And  of  more  powerful  mould  than  common  men, 
As,  rising  with  the  fervor  of  his  speech,  — 
The  strange,  harsh,  rugged  features,  darkly  lit 
With  fitful  lustre  from  deep,  burning  eyes, — 
He  suddenly  towered  into  lofty  stature, 
Or  leaned  far  down  among  the  crowd,  that  hung 
In  breathless,  wide-eyed  silence  on  his  lips, 
Enkindling  with  a  swift,  strange  ardor,  caught 
From  him  mayhap,  yet  not  his  speech  alone. 
For  great  as  was  that  speech,  and  though  he  sent 
Among  them  winged  words  like  keen-edged  darts, 
Yet  there  went  ever  out  from  him  a  something 
Beyond  and  deeper  than  all  words,  more  great 
Than  any  speech,  —  a  charmed  magic  spell 
Breathed  from  his  inmost  self,  until  it  seemed 
The  very  air  about,  grown  luminous, 
Shimmered  and   shook  and  thrilled,  charged  with 
some  rare, 


40  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Intangible,  fine  essence,  subtle  sparks 
That,  leaping  outward  from  the  fire  divine 
That  quenchless,  deathless,  burned  within  his  soul, 
Had  power  to  reach  and  seize  and  hold  resistless 
The  souls  of  others. 

Thus,  while  now  and  then, 
Even  like  the  ripple  on  a  wind-tossed  lake, 
A  secret  stir  passed  through  the  multitude, 
And  here  and  there  a  rising  sigh  was  heard, 
He  set  before  them,  scathing,  merciless, 
All  the  accursed  evils  of  the  time, 
The  sloth  and  sin  and  darkness  and  corruption, 
Wherein   the  world   was   sunk  ;   how  rank  indul- 
gence 

And  shameless  passions,  lust,  and  love  of  self, 
And  greed  of  power,  had  spread,  a  deadly  plague 
Contaminating  all,  and  sparing  none, 
Through  every  rank  and  station,  high  and  low, 
Till    in    the    whole  wide    land    could    scarce    be 

found 
One     soul    untouched    and    stainless    still;    and 

cried : 

"Ay,  all  of  you  that  I  see  here,  all,  all, 
Woman  and  man  and  tender  child  alike, 
Are  blackened  with  the  deadly  taint  of  sin, 
Bring  daily  one  stone  more  that  helps  to  build 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  41 

The  Temple  of  the  Devil  higher !  " 

And  then, 

With  all  the  thunders  of  his  eloquence, 
With  flashing  eye  and  clenched  hand  raised  aloft, 
As  if  he  grasped  and  hurled  a  bursting  sheaf 
Of  lightning  on  the  unrepentant  sinner, 
Showed  them  the  terrors  of  the  Judgment  Day, 
The  vengeance  and  the  awful  wrath  to  come 
Of  an  offended  God.     And  once,  while  thus 
He    stood,    both    arms    raised    high,    and   as    it 

chanced 

A  purple  sunbeam  striking  him,  that  wrapped 
In  sudden,  lurid  glow  the  towering  form 
And  dusky,  fitful  features  wrought  with  passion, 
Maria  fancied  he  himself  must  be 
A  creature  from  that  fearful  nether  world 
Of  writhing  spirits,  doomed  eternally, 
Whose    torturing    fires,    e'en    while    he    painted 

them, 
Played    in    fierce    tongues    of    flame    about    his 

head ; 

And  with  a  secret  shudder  in  her  veins, 
She  crept  unconsciously  more  close  to  Piero. 

And  now,  in  truth,  it  seemed  as  if  a  breath 
Of  mighty  tempest  swept  the  multitude, 


42  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

That  suddenly  breaking,  rocked  them  to  and  fro, 

Like  seething  billows  on  a  storm-tossed  sea. 

A    shudder    seized     on    all,  —  cries,    sobs,    and 

groans 

Rose  up  on  every  hand ;    some  wept  aloud, 
And     some     upon     their    trembling     knees     ex- 
claimed, 
"  Lord,  Lord,  have   mercy    on    my  soul ! "      And 

now 

The  awful  voice  paused  for  an  instant,  —  then 
A  smile  of  infinite  sweetness,  suddenly 
Transforming  some  grim  demon  to  an  angel 
Of    peace   and    joy,  broke   on    the   working  fea- 
tures, 

And  raising  up,  like  some  benignant  god, 
Both  hands  in  silent  blessing  on  the  world, — 
In  deep,  melodious  tones,  that  fell  like  oil 
On  troubled  waters,  'mid  the  humming  crowd, 
Where  each  held  back  the  louder  sob  or  sigh,  — 
The  Frate  cried  again : 

"  But  friends,  Beloved, 
I  do  beseech  ye,  think  if  for  all  this, 
Hell's  fire  and  blood  and  gnashing  of  the  teeth 
Ye  might  exchange  and  know  the  love  of  God, 
And  peace  of  conscience,   that    might   prove   to 
ye 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  43 

A  bed  of  fragrant  roses,  soft  as  down, 
And  sweet  as  honeyed  wine  to  parching  lips !  — 
If  when  your  souls  cast  off  this  poor,  vile  garb 
Of  sinful  flesh,  and  trembling  soar  to  Heaven, 
The  Almighty  Father  should  fling  wide  at  once 
The  Gates  of  Paradise,  and  bid  ye  enter, 
Crying,    'Well   done,'    and   *  Welcome,    dear,    my 

Son!' 

To  dwell  in  bliss  untold,  unspeakable, 
With  saints  and  angels,  through  eternity. 
Oh,  my  beloved,  in  the  name  of  God,"  — 
And  once  again,  in  passionate   entreaty. 
His  voice  rose  high,  like  ringing  trumpet-tones,  — 
"Ay,  in  the  holy  and  thrice  blessed  name 
Of  God  and  his  most  precious  Son,  who  gave 
His   blood  to  save   your  souls,  I  do   conjure  ye, 
Walk  the  steep,  narrow  pathway  full  of  thorn, 
That  leads  ye  thither  !     Kneel,  repent,  cry  mercy, 
Unceasing  day  and  night,  in  thought  and  deed , 
Humble  your  pride,  slay  with  a  sword  of  fire 
Foul  Love  of  Self,  for  ay,  't  is  that,  self,  self, 
Whereby  ye  fall,  and  Satan  seizes  ye  ! 
To  but  the  few  elect  the  Lord  vouchsafes 
The  grace  of  some  immortal  sacrifice, 
To  bring  for  grateful  offering  a  crushed  heart, 
A  broken  spirit  crucified  for  Him,  — 


44  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

But  all,  all,  all,  —  the  humblest  and  most  high, 
Man,  woman,  child,  anointed  king,  or  beggar,  — 
Can  show,  in  some  small  way,  a  willing  soul, 
Renounce,  give  up,  tread  'neath   triumphant  feet, 
For  love  of  God,  some  petty,  worldly  thing, 
Dear  to  the  cursed  flesh,  and  were 't  no  more 
Than  but  the  glittering  baubles,  gold,  and  gems 
Wherewith  ye  hang  your  persons,  snares  to  lure 
The  souls  of  men  to  sin !    And  oh,  sweet  friends, 
Let  me  beseech  ye,  by  the  love  I  bear  ye, 
To  lose  no  time,  and  mayhap  jeopard  all, 
But   even   this   day,  this   hour,  —  here,  —  now,  — 

at  once, 

Begin  the  blessed  work  of  your  salvation, 
For  oh,  believe,  the  Awful  Day  of  Wrath 
Is  close  at  hand  !  " 

He  ended,  and  Maria,  — 
Who    through    the    long    discourse    had   once   or 

twice 
Marked    how    the    Frate's    glances    turned    their 

way, 

And  for  one  burning  instant  fixed  themselves 
On  her  companion,  and  each  time  had  fancied 
That  a  slight  tremor  ran  through  Piero's  frame  — 
Now   plainly  felt  the  arm  that   clasped  her  trem- 
ble, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  45 

And  suddenly  press  her  from  his  side,  and   then 
As  suddenly  snatch  and  fold  her  closer  still, 
And  looking  up,  beheld  a  white,  set  face. 
But  when  in  half  alarm  she  whispered,  "  Love, 
Art    thou    not    well  ? "    he,    frowning,    shook    his 

head, 
And  motioned,  "  Nay,  look  there  ! " 

Following  his  gaze. 

She  saw  how  at  one  point  the  parting  throng 
Made  room  for  one,  —  a  noble  lady,  brave 
In  all  the  finery  of  proud  array, 
Who    coming    swiftly    through    their    midst,    ad- 
vanced 

Close  to  the  pulpit's  foot,  and,  pausing  there, 
With  a  deep   courtesy,  drew  from  off  her   shoul- 
ders 

A  rich  silk  mantle,  spread  it  on  the  ground, 
And  then,  unclasping  from  her  shapely  throat 
A  golden  chain,  laid  that  upon  it,  saying: 
"  This    to   God's   poor !      Here    I    renounce   for- 
ever 
All   worldly    pelf !  "      And    then,   with   downcast 

eyes 

And  flushing  cheek,  turned  and  withdrew  again, 
While  a  low  murmur  of  surprise  and  praise 
Ran  through  the  crowd,  now  surging  after  her, 


46  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And    pressing  round    the    spot    where    she    had 

stood, 

Nor  yet  to  gaze  but  idly  on.     For  in 
Another  moment,  fired  by  her  example, 
A  hundred  eager,  other  hands  were  stretched, 
Bringing  some  offering,  giving  what  they  could, 
Each  in  his  humble  or  more  wealthy  power,  — 
Rings,  chains,  and  bracelets,  scarfs  and  belts,  and 

kerchiefs,  — 
Till  the  strange,  glittering  heap  swelled  wondrous 

high, 

And  on  a  sign  from  Fra  Girolamo, 
Two  friars,  coming  forward,  mounted  guard 
About  the  unlooked-for  treasures,  while  himself, 
With  words   of  cheer,  stepped  down   among   the 

people, 

Who  flocked  about  him  all  tumultuously, 
Eager  to  touch  and  kiss  his  garment's  hem, 
Or  crave  his  benediction.     But  at  last, 
With  tongues  set  free  once  more,,  and  casting  off 
The  spell  laid  on  them  by  that  august  presence, 
Broke  into  smaller  groups,  and  so  dispersed, 
Setting  their  faces  homeward. 

Lisa,  too, 

Though  with  a  secret  sigh,  had  offered  up 
Three  of  the  marvelous  pins  that  bound  her  hair, 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  47 

And  now  Maria,  passing  by  the  pile, 
Drew  from  her  arm  two  slender  hoops  of  gold, 
And  tossed  them  down  amid  the  other  trinkets, 
Asking  of  Piero,  with  a  mute,  half  smile, 
Was  it  well  done?     But  seeing  he  stood  grave, 
And  looking   down  on  her  with    strange  intent- 
ness, 
She     clasped     her    hands     about    his     arm    and 

prayed  : 
"  Come,    let    us    home    now,    too !      'T  is    late, 

methinks, 

And  Uncle  surely  waits  the  evening  meal 
Till  I  shall  join  him." 

And,  in  truth,  the  sun 

Had  long  gone  down  behind  the  western  hills, 
And  dusky,  purple  shadows  everywhere 
On  earth  began  to  gather,  while  above, 
In  faintly  rose-flushed  skies,  fair,  tiny  isles 
Of  shimmering  cloudlets  floated  peacefully. 
So  they  set  out  to  cross  the  field  again, 
In  silence,  save  when  once  Maria  cried, 
"  Ah,    look   how    wondrous ! "    as    there    rose   to 

view. 

Slow  following  in  the  sun's  dim,  golden  wake, 
A  glorious  disk,  the  full-orbed  moon,  that  cast 
Their  flitting  shadows  on  the  path  before  them. 


48  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

But  Piero  made  no  answer,  and  Maria, 

Divining  that  her  lighter  mood  might  jar 

On  the   grave   thought  wherein    his   soul   seemed 

bound, 

Ventured  no  more  just  then,  but  mutely  strove 
To  tune  her  spirit  in  accord  with  his. 
But  in  a  little  while  she  spoke  again : 
"  Ay,  he  is  great,  thy  Frate,  —  wonderful, 
Yet  fearful,  too,  methinks  !  "     "  He  is  of  God !  " 
Said  Piero,  briefly,  and  no  more,  as  if 
In    that   one    word    all    needful    things    were   ut- 

tere*d. 

Then  silence  fell  again  between  the  two, 
Unbroken  till  they  reached  Maria's  door, 
And  she,  perceiving  that  he  suddenly  paused, 
Half  shyly  asked,    "Thou  wilt  not  sup  with  us, 
Or  later,  mayhap,  come  again  ?     Ah,  see, 
The  garden  surely  will  be  passing  fair 
Beneath  this  moon,  my  Piero  !  " 

"  Not  to-night, 

Nay,  not   to-night,  —  forgive   me,  Love,  —  I   can- 
not ! " 

And,  with  a  passionate  kiss  on  both  the  hands 
He  seized  and  clasped  an  instant  in  his  own, 
He  turned  and  hastily  left  her. 

'Neath  the  moon 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  49 

Walk  in  the  garden,  with  soft  words  of  love, 
Now,  now,  when    all    his    heart   was    plunged  in 

darkness, 

An  awful  storm  convulsing  all  his  soul ! 
O  Heaven  !   she  little  knew  or  understood 
What  conflict,  what  sore  fever  of  unrest, 
Had   long   dwelled   with    him,  tortured   and  con- 
sumed 

His  travailing  spirit,  ceaseless  day  and  night, 
For  weary  weeks,  though   fanned  to  fiercer  flame 
In  this  dread,  fateful  hour !     Ah,  and  how  should 

she! 
What   though   the  war  was  waged    for  her  and 

love, 

Nay,  without  her  and  love  had  been  no  war ! 
For   nought  was    hard    save    this,  —  ay,   full   as 

easy 

As  to  put  out  to  sea  in  some  good  craft, 
Leaving  behind  shores  fair  enough,  mayhap, 
But  yet  not  over-dear.     But  she,  but  she  — 
O  blessed,  unsuspecting,  sweetest  Love  ! 
O  God,  did  he  not  love  her,  love  her  past 
Poor  words  to  utter,  —  was  not  all  his  soul 
So   bound   and    knit  with    her,   that    thought  of 

parting 
Was  like  the  thrust  of  death,  that  cleaves  in  two 


50  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

A    single     bleeding    heart !      Sweet    Heaven    of 

mercy, 

Nay,  wherefore,  wherefore  had  he  ever  heard 
That   awful   voice,  which   roused    his    slumbering 

heart 

From  all  the  peace  and  joy  it  might  have  known, 
Like  other  happy  men  ! 

How  long  or  late 

He  vaguely  wandered  on  and"  on,  careless 
Whither  the  unconscious  feet  untiring  bore  him, 
He  knew  not,  nor  yet  heeded  ;   heard  nor  saw 
Who  passed  him  in  the  silent,  moon-lit  streets,  — 
Fond  lovers,  mayhap,  strolling  arm  in  arm, 
Speaking  in  whispers;   merry  revelers  filled 
With  wine  and  laughter,  who  an  instant  broke 
The  balmy  stillness  of  the  night  with  song ; 
Or  some  good  Frate,  hasting  on  to  bear 
The  last  immortal  solace  to  some  couch 
Of  lonely  death  or  suffering. 

Wandered  thus 

Till  'neath  the  full-blown  splendors  of  the  moon, 
Now  riding  overhead  in  stainless  blue, 
There  suddenly  rose  before  him,  towering  up 
In  all  the  majesty  of  ruined  grandeur 
To  loftiest,  dizzy  height  beneath  the  skies, 
And  spreading  out  in  boundless,  vast  dimensions 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  .        51 

To  right  and  left,  the  wondrous,  ancient  pile 

Built  by  some  Caesar  centuries  ago, 

That    now,    through    many    a    broken    arch   and 

opening, 

Showing  like  empty  eyes  from  far  below, 
Looked  down  upon  the  silent,  barren  earth, 
But   where    gay,  countless    thousands    once    had 

streamed 

Through  countless  gates  and  portals,  to  behold 
The  great,  imperial  games,  —  the  race  and  wrestle, 
The  mimic  war,  the  combat  with  wild  beasts, 
The  awful,  deadly  fray  'twixt  man  and  man, 
And  last  the  martyr's  sacrifice,  whose  soul 
Broke  from  him  in  a  hymn  of  praise  to  God. 

Piero  passed  slowly  through  one  mighty  portal, 
And  for  a  moment  paused  and  gazed  around, 
Alone,  he  thought,  in  this  vast  monument 
Of  fallen  human  pride,  as  he  were  left 
The  last  man  living  in  a  desert  world. 
Here,  too,  within,  but  utter  solitude, 
And  deep,  unbroken  silence  everywhere,  — 
The  great  arena  stretching  far  and  wide, 
With  the  tall,  wooden  cross  some  pious  hand 
Had  here  set  up  of  late,  —  the  endless  field 
Of  steps  and  seats,  half  crumbled  to  decay, 


52         .          PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

That,  rising  row  on  row  and  tier  on  tier, 
Seemed  to  mount  half-way  to  the  stars,  —  all,  all, 
Part  flooded  with  a  sea  of  silver  light, 
That  clear  as  day  showed  every  stone  and  cornice, 
Part  plunged  in  blackest  shadow,  cutting  sharp 
Upon  the  dazzling  whiteness. 

Then  he  moved, 

And,  lost  again  in  self-forgetful  thought, 
Climbed    the    steps    near    him,  'mid    the    brittle 

stones, 

That  sometimes,  giving  way  beneath  his  feet, 
Slid  down  into  the  depths  below,  startling 
Some  gentle  lizard,  mayhap,  from  its  sleep,  — 
Still  swiftly  mounted,  pressing  high  and  higher, 
Till  the  last  row  was  reached,  beneath  the  arches, 
And  here  at  last  sank  down  upon  a  seat, 

Bowing  his  weary  head  upon  his  hands. 

All  his  whole  life  —  ah,  and  the  bygone  years, 

Though  few  and  brief  enough  by.  human  count, 

Seemed  long  and  many  to  his  heavy  soul !  — 

Came  floating  up,  —  his  sunny  childhood,  guarded 

By  a  beloved  mother's  tender  care, 

Who  left  him,  wholly  orphaned,  all  too  soon ; 

His  stainless  youth,  left  undefiled,  thank  God ! 

By  all  those  sins  wherewith  fell  Satan  lures 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  53 

So  many  to  their  fall.     Yet  had  he  lived 
Even  to  these  last,  grave  years  of  ripening  man- 
hood, 

Like  hundred  other  youths  of  princely  house, 
In  gilded  idleness  and  luxury, 
'Mid  merry,  heedless  friends,  —  inclined,  mayhap, 
At  all  times  to  more  serious  thought  than  they, 
And  deep  in  study  of  the  art  and  story 
And  legend  lore  wherein  the  land  was  rich  : 
But  what  was  that,  all  that?     Oh,  by  the  Saints, 
What  smallest  profit  or  avail !     What  had 
He  ever  done,  attempted,  or  achieved 
In  that  which  must  ten  thousand  times  outweigh 
All  deepest  lore  and  learning  in  the  world,  — 
To    bind    the    wounds    of     some    sore,    stricken 

heart, 
Snatch    one    faint-hearted,    struggling    soul    from 

sin, 

And  set  its  feet  upon  the  path  to  Heaven  ?  — 
What  for  the  good  of  man  and  God's  dear  glory, 
In  all  his  wasted  days  ?     And  then  had  come 
The  joy  of  joys,  God-granted,  —  Love,  —  Maria, 
The  crown  and  starry  Spring-time  of  his  life, 
All    whose    blest,    sweetest    blossoms    now   must 

die! 
And  then,  and  then,  O  God !   one  fated  day 


54  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

That  awful  voice  had  sounded  in  his  ear, 
And   knocked   upon    his   heart   and   stirring  con- 
science, 

In  loud  and  louder  tones,  with  every  hour, 
And  would  not  be  denied,  and  swelled  at  last 
To  notes  like  thunder,  or  the  trump  of  doom, 
That   on   the   last    Dread    Day   shall   rouse    the 

dead. 

And  as  a  pallid  spectre  first,  that  comes 
Unbidden  to  the  feast  and  unobserved, 
But  whereso'er  its  withering  shadow  falls, 
Dims  joyous  eyes  and  suddenly  hushes  song, 
And  gradually  assuming  more  and  more 
Substance   and   form,  and   distinct   hue   and  out- 
line, 

Until  at  last  it  wore  the  Awful  Face 
Of  God  Himself,  —  had  crept  into  his  life 
The  dream,  the  thought,  the  purpose,  the  convic- 
tion, 

That  he  must  turn  from  and  renounce  the  world, 
To  give  himself  to  Heaven,  —  a  priest  of  God, 
And  humble  servant  of  his  fellow  men! 
Ah,  consecrate  himself  alone,  —  take  up 
A  new  and  fairer  life,  cast  off  the  world 
And  all  its  base  delights,  —  ay,  once  again, 
That  were  but  easy,  deepest  satisfaction, 


PIERO   DA    CASTIGLIONE.  55 

Rather  than  sacrifice  at  all,  save  that 

The    world    was    summed    in    that    one    word,  — 

Maria ! 

Maria,  —  Love,  —  O  Heaven,  —  oh  light   and   joy 
To  heart  and  eyes,  must  they  go  out  forever, 
And  leave  him  groping  in  blind,  helpless   night! 
Would   God    demand    that   he  should   break   her 

heart, 

That  he  must  offer  up  her  too,  her  too, — 
Both,  both,  —  two  lives,  —  a  double  sacrifice  ? 
"  Maria,  —  O  Beloved  !  —  Lord  of  Mercy, 
Oh  blessed  Saints,  help,  save,  my  tortured  heart, 
Teach  me  to  find  the  path  my  soul  should  walk  !  " 

With  a  fierce  gesture  he  sprang  up  again, 
And  hastened  back  upon  the  way  he  came, 
Down,  down  amid  the  sliding  stones   once  more, 
With  swift,  unerring  feet,  that  never  paused, 
Till  the  arena  reached,  he  went  to  sit 
In  the  deep  shadow  of  the  cross,  that  spread 
Its  lofty  arms  above, — for  here,  here  somehow, 
It  seemed  relief  and  comfort  must  be  found, — 
But  looking  slowly  up  now,  he  beheld 
The  vast  space  suddenly  peopled  and  astir 
With  new,  strange,  bustling  life.      There,  on  the 
right, 


56  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

The  purple  standards  and  the  imperial  eagles, 
Close  to  the  Caesar  and  his  glittering  train,  — 
The  white-robed  Senators  and  Vestal  Virgins, 
Beside  the  noble  Matron  with  her  sons, 
And  all  around,  above,  below,  beyond, 
A  motley,  swarming,  countless  multitude, 
Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  face  to  face, 
That  close-packed  filled  the  benches,  tier  on  tier, 
From  sky-line  to  arena.     Marked  an  instant 
The  glint  of  rival  chariots  thundering  by, 
The  drivers  bent  above  the  swirling  lash, 
That     urged    their    foaming    steeds    to    frenzied 

speed, 

And  gone  like  lightning,  'mid  the  clouds  of  dust 
The  flying  hoofs  left  after  them.     Perceived 
A  tawny  lion  crouching  for  his  spring, 
Pierced  by  a  javelin  gleaming  through  the  air, 
And  so  roll  over,  wallowing  in  his  gore, 
While    the    crowd    clamored.      Saw    and    heard,  * 

close  by, 

The  flash  and  shock  of  meeting  combatants, 
The    crash    of    shivered    swords    and    splintering 

shields, 
The    cries    and    groans    of    wounded    men    and 

dying, 
And  then  the  conqueror,  as  he  set  his  foot 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  57 

Upon  the  breast  of  him  whose  glazing  eye 
Beheld  his  victor  gazing  round  in  triumph, 
Demanding  his  reward,  and  what  his  masters, 
The  sovereign  people,  bade  him  do ;    and  they, 
Leaning  far  down  across  the  parapet, 
Flung  out  innumerable  hands,  that  made 
The  deadly  sign  of  the  reverted  thumb, 
While     from     ten     thousand    and    ten    thousand 

throats 

A  shout  of  mad  applause,  that  rent  the  skies, 
Burst  forth  again  and  yet  again,  and  then 
The    awful    cry,    "Kill!    kill!"  — while    all    the 

sands 
Grew  red  with  streams  of  blood. 

But  suddenly 

Through  all    the  noise  and  din  and  wild  acclaim 
Of  the  tumultuous,  roaring  multitude, 
Rose  clear  and  solemn,  like  a  peal  of  bells 
Chiming  together  in  one  strain  divine, 
A  single  voice,  proclaiming,  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 
And  in  a  flash,  touched  as  by  magic  power, 
All  the  gay  scene  had  vanished,  —  sunk  away 
Into  the  ground,  —  dissolved  in  empty  air ; 
Nought  now  again  but  solitude  and  silence, 
And  the  white  moonlight  in  unbroken  sheen, 
There,  everywhere,  above,  around,  below, 


58  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  yet  once  more,  now  low  and  soft,  the  words 
Came  sounding,  —  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 

And  Piero  turned, 

And  saw  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  cross 
A  form  familiar  and  yet  new,  in  sweetness 
Ineffable,  and  passing  majesty,  — 
A  crown  of  light  circling  about  his  head, 
A  heavenly  smile  upon  the  silent  lips, 
And  both  his  arms  spread  wide,  —  a  living  form 
In  stainless,  throbbing  whiteness,  stirred  as  with 
The  pulse  of  some  great  heart  beneath,  that  sent 
A  marvelous,  mellow  radiance  streaming  forth, 
Like  beams  of  quivering  starlight. 

"  Christ !  "  he  cried, 

And  sank  upon  his  knees,  and  laid  his  face 
Close  to  the  ground,  on  those  beloved  feet, 
Clasping    the    garment's     hem    with     passionate 

arms,  — 
"  Christ,  Son    of    God !      Thou   who    hast  borne 

like  us 

The  mortal  burden,  even  to  bleeding  Death, 
My  Saviour,  my  Redeemer,  help  me  Thou  ! " 

He  waited  breathless,  but  no  answer  came. 
Then,  lifting  up  his  face  at  last,  perceived 
The  shining  form  still  lingered  for  an  instant, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  59 

Stood  there  unmoving,  with  mute  lips,  unbent 
In  but  the  heavenly  smile  they  smiled  before. 
Then  suddenly,  while  he  gazed,  this,  too,  the 

Christ, 

Had  melted  into  shadow,  and  he  lay 
Clasping  the  foot  of  but  the  barren  cross. 

Slowly  he  rose.     And  now  upon  his  left 
Once  more  rang  out  a  strangely  solemn  chant, 
And  through  the  arena  moved  a  motley  band, 
Half  knight,  half  peasant,  all  with  mantles  white, 
Their   Master's   hue,  thrown  over  vest  or  breast- 
plate, 

While  on  each  shoulder  shone  a  flaming  cross, 
And  him  who  marched  before  and  led  them  all, 
A  noble,  towering  form,  of  princely  mould, 
Waving  one  hand  that  held  a  crucifix 
Above  his  head,  and  in  the  other  bore 
A  sword  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  —  Piero  knew 
The  Castiglione  and  his  ancestor, 
Whose  memory  all  his  heart  had  worshiped  long, 
And  as  he  turned  to  cheer  his  followers  on 
With  voice  and  glance,   half   startled  thought  to 

see 

An  image  of  himself  in  those  dark  features. 
A  moment,  and  the  chanting  ceased,  and  all 


6O  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Broke  out  into  a  cry  so  deep  and  fervid 

Its  echoes  thrilled  through  Piero's  inmost  soul, 

"  God    wills,  God   wills    it ! "    and,    again,    "  God 

wills  it ! 

His  will  be  done  through  all  eternity !  " 
And  with  that  cry  still  ringing,  hastened  on 
With  eager  feet,  soon  lost  to  view  beyond 
The  furthest  shades. 

The  moon  had  long  gone  down, 
And  the  last  glimmer  of  pale  stars  was  fading 
In  the  white  dawn  that  deepened  in  the  skies, 
When  Piero,  worn  and  wearied  unto  death, 
At  last  bent  homeward  slow,  unsteady  steps. 
One  steady  purpose  only,  like  faint  light, 
Gleamed   in   his   soul,  grown   dark  with  whirling 

chaos,  — 

Ere  yet  another  day  has  run  its  course, 
Get  thee  to  Fra  Girolamo,  confess 
To  him,  thy  heart,  and  by  what  he  shall  bid  thee 
Abide  forever,  for  through  him  speaks  God. 


'T  was  close  on  noon  when  he  awoke  from  sleep 
That  all-exhausted  nature  craved  at  last, 
And  wrung  from  him  at  every  cost,  yet  made 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  6 1 

But  broken,  brief,  and  full  of  troubled  dreams, 
And  starting  from  his  couch,  that  first  long  hours 
Had  seen  him  toss  in  feverish  wakefulness, 
And  now  at  once  remembering  all,  prepared 
To  sally  forth  again  without  delay 
To  San  Miniato,  swiftly  as  he  might, 
With  but  a  touch  of   meat  and  drink,  —  so  scant 
That  old  Ubaldo  sighed  and  shook  his  head, 
As  from  the  master's  board  he  bore  each  dish 
Well-nigh  untasted. 

Midday  heat  and  glow 

Lay  brooding  in  the  streets  and  lanes  and  fields, 
Through  whose  long  reaches  Piero  hastily  passed. 
But  here,  within  the  cloister's  spacious  precincts, 
Stillness  and  grateful  shadow  everywhere. 
Oh,  thus  in  truth  —  thus  grateful,  still,  and  cool  — 
Must  seem  all  life,  sheltered  by  those  blest  walls 
From  the  fierce  heat  and  tumult  of  the  world, 
He  vaguely  thought,  and  drew  a  bell  that  woke 
A  gently  tinkling  echo. 

"Ah  yes,  yes," 

Said  the  good  Brother  who  admitted  him, 
"Their  honored  guest,  the  Fra  Girolarno, 
Was  in,  —  ay,  yonder  in  the  Prior's  cell,  — 
He  knew  the  way  ?    Down  that  short  corridor,  — 
Now  at  his  noonday  meal,  most  like,  he  thought, 


62  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Yet  he  might  go,  —  it  was  the  Frate's  wont 
To  see  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night 
Such   as   might   come   to   him  with  weighty  busi- 
ness, 
And    he    had    such,  past    doubt,  —  ay,    ay,  't  was 

plain  !  " 

And  with  a  kindly  nod  and  beckoning  hand, 
He  turned  away. 

A  dusky,  spacious  cell, 
Lit  by  a  tinted  window  from  above, 
Its  door  left  half  ajar,  where  Piero,  knocking, 
And  bid  to  enter,  humbly  bent  his  head, 
Suddenly  confronting,  face  to  face,  the  man 
Who  dwelled  so  close  to  God.     He  was  alone, 
Save  for  a  gray-robed,  mute,  young  acolyte, 
Who  served  him,  standing,  while  he  sat  at  table. 
For  on  the  simple,  unclothed  board  before  him 
Was  spread,  in  truth,  a  plain,  most  frugal  meal,  — 
Some  white  and  purple  grapes,  beside  a  dish 
Of  golden  honey,  and  a  coarse,  brown  loaf, 
Next  a  slim  glass  half  filled  with  pale-red  wine. 
He  nodded  silent  greeting  to  the  comer, 
Then,  after  but  a  glance  upon  his  face, 
Pushed  back   his   chair,  —  while,  on  a  sign   from 

him, 
The  young  attendant  vanished  noiselessly,  — 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  63 

And  leaning  forward,  fixed  again  on  Piero 

A  strange,  deep  gaze,  searching,  as  if  to  pluck 

The  secret  from  his  inmost  soul  at  once, 

Asking,  in  gentlest  tones,  "  What  is  it,  Son  ? 

I  do  perceive  no  common  purpose  brings  you. 

Be  seated,  open  up  your  heart,  oppressed 

If  I  mistake  not,  by  some  heavy  grief." 

And  when,  assenting,  Piero  bowed  his  head, 

"  Speak  freely,  Son,  and  I  will  give  you  comfort, 

Even  as  the  Lord  shall  send  me  power." 

And  thus 

Cheered   and   encouraged,  —  perching  for   an   in- 
stant 

Upon  a  seat,  but  springing  up  ere  long 
To  pace  the  floor  with  hasty,  restless  strides, 
That    now    and   then    paused    near   the    Frate's 

chair,  — 

Piero  began  the  story  of  his  woes, 
Suffered  so  long  in  solitude  and  silence,  — 
Slowly  at  first,  and  in  half-faltering  fashion; 
But  soon,  as  if  some  magic  touch,  swift- winged, 
Had  set  the  flood-gates  of  his  spirit  wide, 
All  his  whole  soul  came  bursting,  gushing  forth, 
Like  a  resistless  torrent.     He  poured  out 
In  fiery  words  of  passionate  eloquence, 
In  ringing  tones,  with  eyes  and  cheeks  aflame, 


64  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

His     inmost    thought,    laid     bare    each     deepest 

pulse, 

The  doubt  and  conflict  that  consumed  him  now,  — 
Unrolled  the  simple  picture  of  his  life, 
Even  as  it  came  to  him  but  yester  night, 
From  childish  days,  until  the  Frate's  voice 
Had     fanned     the     kindling     conscience    in    his 

breast 

To  a  devouring  flame,  —  told  all,  all,  all, 
Save  that  he  ever  halted,  and  his  breath 
Came  thick  and  fast,  and  cut  his  utterance  short, 
Each   time    that    he    would    speak    the    name  — 

Maria ! 

The  Frate,  leaning  back  once  more,  sat  listening 
Attentively,  but  yet  without  a  word, 
In  seeming  calmness,  save  that  in  his  eye 
Deep  down  a  fiery  spark  began  to  glow, 
And  the  long,  sallow  fingers  now  and  then 
Swiftly   reached    out,    and    thrummed     upon    the 

table 
Some  curious,  soundless  tune. 

"Well,  and  what  then?" 
He  briefly  asked,  in  strangely  quiet  tone 
And  face  unmoved,  when  Piero  paused.     "  Your 

name?" 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  6$ 

"  Piero  da  Castiglione." 

"  As  I  thought, 

Of  princely  house.  —  You  say  the  voice  of  God 
Bids  you  give  up  the  world  and  be  a  priest, 
Nor  yet  are  you  deceived  by  human  pride 
And  sinful  confidence,  —  in  truth  the  Lord 
Himself  has  called  you,  for  your  sole  example, 
One  set  so  high  in  worldly  rank  and  power, 
Would  win  a  thousand  erring  souls  from  sin 
To  their  salvation  and  immortal  life. 
And  call  you  this  a  grief,  —  to  have  His  hand 
In  signal  mercy  trace  the  path  for  you, 
Clear  as  the  noonday  sun  ?     It  is  not  thus 
With  all  He  summons,  —  was  not  thus  with  me. 
For  two  long  years,  when  first  I  heard  His  voice, 
I  wrestled  in  fierce  anguish  with  myself, 
My  ceaseless  prayer  of  day  and  night  but  this : 
"  Lord,    lead    me    in    the    way   my   soul   should 

walk !  " 

Not  sure  I  should  subdue  the  warring  flesh, 
And  give  my  undivided  soul  to  Him. 
But  you,  —  you  tell  me,  too,  you  would  obey 
The  sacred  summons  with  most  willing  heart, 
Yet   half   hang    back,    and    speak    of   doubt   and 

conflict : 


66  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

I  do  not  understand,  —  you've  not  told  all, — 
Conceal    from    me    some    point    of   gravest    mo- 
ment !  " 

"Ay,  for  myself,  but  for  myself  alone, 

The  path  were  plain,  most  plain  in  truth  ! "  cried 

Piero, 

And,  as  despairing,  flung  his  arms  aloft, 
His  sweetest  secret  wrung  from  him  at  last. 
"  But  I  am  not  alone !     My  soul  is  knit, 
Made  one  forever,  with  another  life, 
Infinite  dearer  than  my  own.     I  love, 
And     am     beloved,  —  betrothed,    and     soon     to 

wed !  " 

"Ah!"  and  a  flash  of  darkly  gathering  fire 
Leaped   from  the  Frate's   eyes  :    "  'T  was   that,  — 

I  knew  it !  " 

And,  hastily  rising  now,  he  stood  erect, 
Confronting  Piero,  from  whose  quivering  lips 
Burst  the  same  cry  of  wailing  agony 
That  in  the  silent  night  had  rent  his  soul : 
"  And  must  I  break  her  heart,  and  offer  up 
Her     too,    her     too  ?     Will     God     demand  —  O 

Heaven  !  — 
Both,  both,  —  two  lives,  —  a  double  sacrifice  ? 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  6/ 

Father,  have  mercy  !  " 

And  with  shaking  hands 
Thrown  out  in  supplication  for  an  instant, 
Then  suddenly  struck  before  his  burning  face, 
He  bent  a  knee,  and  bowed  his  head  like  one 
Who     breathless     from     his     Judge     awaits     the 

death-blow, 
Or  word  of  grace. 

But  the  deep  voice  above  him, 
Falling  upon  his  ear  like  the  decree 
Of  merciless,  inexorable  doom, 
Cried,  ringing  out  in  all  its  full,  rich  power: 
"And  would  not  this,  a  double  sacrifice, 
Be  doubly  sweet  and  grateful  to  the  Lord, 
A  fragrant  offering,  more  acceptable 
Than     myrrh     and     frankincense,     and     all     the 

homage 

Of  thousand  single  hearts  ?     Son,   Son,  rise  up, 
This  is  not  worthy  of  your  royal  soul ! 
What,  dare  you  speak  of  sorrow,  are  you  bowed, 
As  'neath  some  mortal  agony,  by  what 
To  call  a  grief  at  all  is  blasphemy? 
Nay,  rise,  I  say,  and  lift  your  face  to  Heaven, 
In  loud  rejoicing  rather,  and  glad  praise. 
For  God,  in  mercy  and  supremest  favor, 
Has  wondrous   blest,  ay,  called  and  singled  you, 


68  PIERO  DA   CASTIGL1ONE. 

From  tens  of  thousands,  for  a  shining  mark 
Among  his  chosen,  —  given  to  you  to  bring 
An  offering  past  all  offerings,  —  that  crushed 

heart, 

That  broken  spirit  crucified  for  Him 
You  heard  me  tell  of  yester,  when  I  said 
To  but  the  few  Elect  the  Lord  vouchsafes 
The  grace  of  some  immortal  sacrifice  ! 
Rise  up,  I  say !  " 

And  slowly,  painfully 
Piero  obeyed,  and  so  crept  to  a  seat, 
Yet   looked   not  up,   while    still    the  voice   went 

on  : 

"  And  did  you  venture,  in  accursed  blindness 
And  willful  sin,  to  disobey  the  call, 
Shut  out,  deny  God's  summons,  sell  your  Saviour, 
For  the  vile  price  of  fleeting,  earthly  joys, 
Think  you  that,  at  the  side  of  her  you  love, 
You   would   know    comfort,  —  nay,    one    hour    of 

peace  ? 

Would  not  sore  conscience,  like  a  belt  of  thorn, 
Like    sting    of    scorpions,    pierce    your    quivering 

soul, 

Rankle  in  ceaseless  anguish  day  and  night, 
Turn  every  cup  to  wormwood,  —  ay,  transform 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  69 

The  very  roses  of  your  marriage  bed 
To  hideous,  mocking  demons  ? " 

Some  low  sound, 

Half  groan,  half  sob,  as  from  a  bursting  heart, 
Broke    now    from    him    who    sat    with   face    still 

covered, 

And  swaying  for  an  instant  to  and  fro, 
Like  a  tall  tree,  that,  stricken  to  the  life 
By  a  mad  tempest,  snaps  before  the  blast ; 
For  had  not  all  his  tortured,  questioning  soul 
In  silence  long  ere  this  perceived,  acknowledged 
The  awful  truth  now  here  proclaimed  aloud  ? 

"  The  call  has  come,  the  sacred  summons  reached 

you, 

And   though    the   price   were   death,  —  ten   thou- 
sand deaths 

Of  all  the  flesh  holds  dear,  —  must  be  obeyed, 
For  God  is  God,  and  swift  to  claim  his  own  ! " 
Said  the  relentless  voice  once  more,  and  then 
There  fell  a  moment's  silence,  while  the  Frate 
Now  in  his  turn  began  to  pace  the  floor, 
Slowly  at  first,  but  soon  with  hastier  feet, 
Then  without  pausing,  asked  in  gentle  tones, 
"  And  does  she  know  of  this  ? " 


7O  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

"  No  !  "  Piero  cried, 

And,  looking  up  at  last,  revealed  a  face 
As  ghastly  white  as  death.     "  Oh,  if  she  did, 
Methinks  that  half  my  fiercest  pangs  were  done  !  " 
"  Who  is  the  woman  of  your  love  ? " . 

"  Maria 
Di  Montefeltro." 

"  Ay,  I  know  the  house,  — 

She,  too,  of  far-famed  race.     I  marked  you  yester 
Among  the  crowd,  —  you  and  another  ;  she 
Beside  you  was  Maria  ? " 

"Ay!" 

"  A  fair, 

Sweet  blossom  on  an  ancient  tree.     But  more, 
A  woman  who  methinks  will  not  be  found 
Unworthy  of  the  generous  blood  she  springs  from, 
But  if  I  do  mistake  not,  bears  from  God 
A  soul  as  noble  as  her  face  and  form; 
A  lofty  spirit,  strong  and  great  enough 
To  rise  at  need  to  some  sublimest  effort. 
Go  to  her,  tell  her  all,  and  go  at  once, 
For  Satan  ever  lies  in  wait,  to  slip 
His  finger  in  'twixt  best  resolves  and  actions, 
Where  we  delay,  and  so  imperil  all. 
Son,    Son,"    he    suddenly  said,  and    came  where 
Piero, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  Jl 

Finding  no  word  of  answer,  still  sat  mute, 
And  laid  a  touch  as  gentle  as  a  woman's 
On  the  bowed  head  before  him,  and  again 
In  low,  most  tender  voice,  half  tremulous, 
"  Beloved  Son  !  "     And  Piero,  glancing  up 
With  troubled  gaze,  beheld  in  dim  surprise, 
That  for  an  instant  o'er  the  face  near  his 
Swept  a  hot  wave  of  passionate  emotion, 
That    left    the    stern,  dark    features   flushed   and 

quivering,  — 

"Think  not  that  I  advise  thee  even  as  one 
Who  looking  down  from  chilly  heights,  beyond 
Or  joy  or  grief,  knows  not  whereof  he  speaks ! 
I,  too,  have  bled  and  suffered,  —  I,  too,  wrestled 
With  pangs  and  agonies  as  sore  as  those 
Consume  thy  soul,  I  ween  !     For  I,  —  I,  too, 
(Thy  sorrow  and  thy  story  —  God  has  granted 
Thy  eloquent  tongue  a  wondrous  gift  of  speech,  — 
Have  moved  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  will  tell  thee 
What  none  has  ever  heard  before,)  —  I,  too, 
Loved  in  my  youth,  —  loved  well  as  thou,  mayhap, 
If  not  so  happily,  for  from  the  first 
She  scorned  me,  as  too  low  of  birth.     And  yet 
Her  memory,  the  wild  hope,  perchance,  some  time 
To  win  her  still,  made  longer  my  fierce  fight 
With  world  and  flesh,  for  Satan  did  but  hardly 


72  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Release  his  hold.     Aye,  I  have  known  it  all ! 
Yet  know  this,  too,  learned  in  the  fiery  furnace, 
That  in  his  own  good  time  the  Lord  will  turn 
The  bitter  cup  of  death  into  a  draught 
Of  life  and  joy  immortal,  and  the  peace 
That  passeth  understanding  !     So  gird  up 
Thy  loins  at  once,  and  dauntless  sally  forth, 
A  soldier  of  the  Cross !     I,  standing  here 
An  humble  tool  of  God,  to  whom  He  sent  thee, 
And   through  whose   lips  He   now  vouchsafes   to 

speak, 

Anoint  thee  thus,  —  my  love  and  benediction 
Be  ever  on  thy  path  !  " 

He  laid  his  hands 

An  instant  on  the  head  bent  to  his  touch, 
Then  slowly  stepped  aside,  and  said  again, 
"  I  tell  you,  go  to  her,  and  find  it  true 
She  '11  prove  herself  full  worthy.     And  if  not,"  — 
And  now,  all  softness  gone  from  face  and  voice, 
He  cried  in  ringing  tones,  —  "  Ay,  and  if  not, 
She  must  be  crushed  and  broken,'  as  the  Lord 
Will    crush    and    break,    like    snapping,   withered 

reeds, 

All  weak,  unworthy  vessels  in  His  path  !  " 
And  raised  both  arms  aloft,  to  bring  them  down 
With  a  fierce  gesture  through  the  air,  as  if 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  73 

He  hurled  from  him,  and  shivered  into  atoms, 
Some  tender,  fragile  thing  that  gave  offence 
And  so  must  perish.     Then  more  quietly, 
With  hands  uplifted,   as  once  more  bestowing 
His  silent  benediction,  turned  again 
To  where  his  speechless  listener  sat. 

But  Piero, 

With  a  half-cry,  sprang  suddenly  up,  and  fled 
The  awful  presence,  reeling  as  he  went, 
In  the  blind  agony  of  gushing  tears. 


Ah !  it  was  strange  enough,  Maria  thought, 
That  Piero  since  that  eve  upon  the  field 
They  heard  the  Frate,  was  not  seen  again 
For    three    whole    days!     True,    he    had    sent    a. 

message,  — 

Dashed  down,  she  fancied,  with  unsteady  hand,  — 
Yet  only  brief,  and  of  but  little  comfort,  — 
Ay,  one  that,  when  she  pondered  on  it  long, 
Might  well  have  kindled  rather  than  allayed 
The  sense  of  some  approaching  ill,  so  oft 
Darkening  her  troubled  soul  of  late  :  — 

"  Beloved, 
I  cannot  come  at  once,  though  soon.     A  business 


74  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Of  most  momentous  import,  which  thou,  too, 
Must  learn  of  now,  when  next  we  meet  again, 
Still  keeps  me  for  a  day  or  two." 

For  he, 

Who  ever  thus  held  all  her  loving  thought, 
Wandering     about,    scarce    conscious    where    he 

went, 

Or  far  or  near,  through  desolate,  lonely  spots, 
And  shrinking  in  half  fear  from  every  face, 
Like  some  poor  spectre,  had  in  truth  delayed 
For  yet  another  and  another  day 
The  dread  encounter.     For  remembering  —  ay, 
And  could  he  have  forgot  a  single  instant !  — 
That  when  he  next  beheld  those  fair,  sweet  eyes, 
He  must  wring  from  them  sudden,  bloody  tears, 
Stab  to  the  life  that  eager,  fluttering  heart, 
W7hich  ever  flew  to  rest  upon  his  own 
With  infinite  trust  and  all-surrending  love, 
Such  sickening  sense  of  terror  seized  his  spirit, 
Such  a  wild  sense  of  hopeless  dreariness 
And  black  despair  swept  like  a  stifling  wave 
Upon  his  fainting  soul,  that  all  his  frame 
Shook  as  in  fever,  and  his  trembling  feet 
Refused  to  bear  him  on,  while  he  threw  out, 
Again  and  yet  again,  appealing  arms 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  75 

To  the  dumb,  irresponsive  heavens  above, 
Crying  within,  "  My  God,  I  cannot  do 't !  " 

And  yet  had  she  not  been  full  happy,  too, 
For  all  her  Piero  was  so  sorely  missed, 
These  last  three  days !   Maria  thought  again, 
For   yester    there    had    come    dear    Lisa's    birth- 
day, 

And  she  had  made  a  little  feast  for  her, 
With  the  good  Uncle's  leave  and  aid,  —  himself 
Consenting  to  go  with  them,  —  and  had  asked 
Some  fair  young  friends,  and,  above  all,  the  chil- 
dren, 

Tito  and  'Detta,  who  in  wild  delight 
Had  clapped  their  chubby  hands  at  everything 
Of   new  and   strange    they    saw,  —  and    thus    set 

sail 

In  two  gay  boats,  with  pennons  fluttering  high, 
And  joyous  music  sounding  at  the  prow, 
Far  down  the  river,  to  a  pretty  grove 
Of   great,  old    trees ;  had   spread    their   banquet 

there, 

And  afterwards  all,  young  and  old,  had  danced 
In  the  gold  sunset,  till  the  rising  moon 
Cast  their  swift-whirling  shadows  on  the  grass,  — 
All,  save  Maria;   without  Piero's  arm 


76  PIERO  DA^CASTIGLIONE. 

Thrown  round  her,  nay,  it  seemed  as  if  her  feet 
Could  never  lightly  trip  to  merry  tunes ! 
And  thus  demurely  at  her  Uncle's  side 
She  sat,  and  but  looked  on.     And  so  at  last, 
The  feast  quite  over,  they  sailed  home  again, 
Through  a  most  passing  fair,  soft,  balmy  night, 
Wondrous  with  star  and  moonlight  overhead, 
And  gently  rippling  waves  beneath  the  keel, 
And   faint,  sweet   scents,    that    came   like   happy 

dreams, 

Wafted  from    either  slumbering  shore.     Ah,  yes, 
Piero  must  hear  it  all,  —  all  he  had  missed ! 
Ay,  and  to-night,   as  she  sat  waiting  him 
Out  in  the  balcony  alone,  knowing 
That  he  must  surely,  surely  come,  —  to-night 
Her  heart  was  somehow  wondrous  light  and  gay 
Despite  its  haunting  fears,  and  once  again 
Said  to  itself,  as  oft,  What,  after  all, 
Could  that  momentous  business  prove  to  be, 
That   he    had    touched  on  in  such    strange,  dark 

words ! 

They  loved  each  other, — whatsoe'er  beside, 
Or  life  or  death  might  bring,  this,  this  was  sure, 
Fixed  as  eternal  Heaven,  —  ay,  and  all  else 
Imported  less  than  nought! 

So,  now  and  then, 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE  77 

She  warbled  half  aloud  a  line  or  two 

Of  that  same  song  whose   air  she  strove  in  vain 

To  catch  that  day, — 

"  O  joy  of  life,  O  joy  of  love  ! 
When  stainless  skies  are  blue  above, 
O  joy  of   life  !  " 

'Twas  learned  now,  and  she  knew 
Would  please  her  Piero,  —  ay,  and  he  must  hear  it 
That  very  eve,  if  so  his  Highness  liked  ! 
She  thought,  and  smiled  to  think  how  she  should 

charm, 

As  oft  before,  all  trouble  from  his  brow, 
And  drew  more  closely  up  from  time  to  time 
Her  short,  dark  mantle,  —  Piero  ever  prayed 
She    might   thus    guard    her   from    the    damp   of 

night,  — 

For  golden  summer  now  was  fading  fast 
To  russet  autumn  tints,  and  everywhere 
About  her  well-nigh  darkness  reigned.    The  stars 
And  waning  moon  were  up,  but  all  the  heavens 
Had  long  been  full  of  scudding,  vapory  cloud, 
That  gathering  into  thick  and  thicker  masses, 
Seemed  to  portend  a  slow-approaching  storm, 
And  suffered  only  now  and  then  a  beam 
Of  sickly,  half-spent  light  to  pierce  the  gloom, 


78  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  for  an  instant  show  the  dusky  world 
Spread  out  below. 

Ah,  yes,  and  there  came  Piero, 
Beneath  the  trees,  and    now  across  the  turf,  — 
She    knew    his   form    and    step    through    all   the 

twilight,  — 
Yet,   oh    how    strange,    with    what    slow,  lagging 

feet! 

Ah,  well,  he  guessed  not  she  was  here  without, 
Or  surely  he  would  haste  him  twice  as  much  ! 
And,  leaning  down  across  the  balustrade, 
She  waved    her   hand,  —  yet   he    seemed    not   to 

see, 
But  with  bent  head  approached  and  climbed  the 

stair, 
And  slowly  still,  came  down  the  portico. 

But  she  could  wait  no  longer,  and  sprang  up 
And  flew  half  way  to  meet  him,  to  his  arms, 
With  the  swift  words :  "  At  last,  at  last,  my 

Piero  ! 

Ah,  for  how  long  I  have  not  seen  thy  face ! " 
And  then,  half  laughing,  added  :  "  Ay,  in  truth, 
Nor  can  I  see  thee  now,  —  it  is  so  dark ! " 
And,  in  her  joyous  welcome  marked  not,  he 
In  silence  and  with  strange,  convulsive  haste, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  79 

Strained  her  an  instant  to  his  heart,  and  then 
As  suddenly  let  her  go,  but  led  him  on 
A  step  or  two,  and  lightly  said  again, 
Drawing  him  down  beside  her  on  the  bench : 
"  But  come  now,  Piero    mine,  and  let  me   shrive 

thee. 

Confess,  confess  at  once,  what  all  this  time, 
Three  whole,  long  summer  days,  has   kept   thee ! 

Ah, 
But   thy    dear    hands    are   cold,  —  art    thou    not 

well  ? 

Pray  tell  me,  Love  !  "  she  questioned  eagerly, 
And,  bending  closer,  strove  with  searching  glance 
Through  the  dim,  fitful  light,  to  read  his  face. 
"  Yes,    yes,  —  ah,  well   enough  !  "  he    hastily  an- 
swered, 

As  if  half  startled,  and  unconsciously 
Shrank    from    the    soft,  warm    hand    she   laid  on 

his, 

That  instantly  released  its  clinging  hold. 
And  something  strange  in  the  low,  husky  voice 
Struck  with  a  vague  alarm  upon  her  heart, 
So  that  she  swiftly  asked  again,   "  Piero, 
What  is  it,  then  ?    Thou  saidst  when  next  we  met 
I  should  know  all !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Beloved,  yes, 


8O  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  so  thou  shalt,  —  ay,  presently !  "  he  said, 
And  strove  to  speak  as  stoutly  as  he  might, 
Yet  paused  another  instant.     For  again, 
Though  he  had   deemed   that   he  was    nerved  at 

last 

For  this  dread,  awful  hour,  now  it  had  come, 
All  the  old  terror  in  a  whelming  flood 
Came  surging  back,  and  for  the  thousandth  time 
His  soul  cried  fiercely  out,  "  My  God,  my  God  ! 
Oh  if  thou  hadst  but  summoned  me  to  give 
A  tenfold  life.  —  meet  some  swift,  fearful  death 
Before  a  fiery  cannon's  blazing  mouth, 
Rather  than  this,  than  this  ! " 

And  so,  with  heart 

Throbbing  so  wildly  in  his  heaving  breast, 
He  thought  Maria  through  the  dark  must  hear, 
And  while  his  flying  breath  came  thick  and  fast, 
Stifling  the  utterance  of  each  rising  word, 
He  cast  about  how  he  might  best  begin 
Most  naturally,  and  least  to  startle  her; 
And  quickly  said  at  last,  with  quivering  lips, — 
And  in  his  desperate  effort  overstrained 
The  unsteady  bow,  and  came  to  make  his  tone 
Well-nigh  more  light  than  he  had  wished,  — 

"Why,  Love, 
Thou  surely  dost  remember  how,  the  day 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  8 1 

We  heard  the  Frate  preach  upon  the  field, 
Many  gave  up  their  finery,  willing  gifts 
To  the  Lord's  poor,  —  thou,  too,  among  the  rest 
Two  golden  circlets  from  thy  arm.     And  now 
What  is  there  thou  couldst  offer  up  to  God, 
More  precious  infinite  than  those  poor  trinkets, 
Or  any  worldly  pelf  ? " 

A  stone's  dead  weight 

Seemed  suddenly  rolled  from  off  Maria's  heart, 
And  left  it  bounding  free  as  air.     And  thus 
Deceived  one  fatal  instant,  catching  easily 
From  him  the  swiftly  changing,  happier  mood, 
She  cried  half  gleefully  :  — 

"O  Piero  mine, 

And  is  that  all!     Ah,  look  thee  now,  I  have 
A  brave  pearl  necklace,  and  a  coronet 
Of  ruby,  — yes,  and  then  my  wedding  gown, 
And  that  is  dear  to  me  above  all  else,  — 
But  if  it  please  thee,  one  or  all  of  these." 

But  he,  first  flushing  hot,  then  turning  cold, 
To  think  how  in  that  one  brief,  joyful  word, 
Her  "  wedding-gown,"  she  had  unconsciously 
Summed  the  whole  mortal,  awful  sacrifice,  — 
Flared  suddenly  into  something  like  swift  wrath, 
And  springing  up,  cried  harshly :  — 


82  PIERO   DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

"  Nay,  Maria, 

Thou  torturest  me,  —  thou  wilt  not  understand, 
Have  I  not  said,  not  any  earthly  treasure, 
Or  worldly  pelf  ?  " 

"  Piero,  I  do  beseech  thee,  — 
What  is  this, — thou  wert  never  thus  before, — 
Come,  I  must  see  thy  face !  "  she  said  in  turn. 
And  rising  too,  she  drew  him  with  her  now 
Into  the  hall,  where  from  the  gilded  ceiling 
A  lamp,  swung  high,  cast  rings  of  steady  light 
Down     on     the     marble     floor,     he     murmuring 

faintly,  — 
"  Forgive  me,  Love,  forgive  !     Oh,  if  in  truth  "  — 

But  when  she  looked  upon  the  wasted  features, 
Wherein    these   few    brief    days    had    wrought    a 

change 

Fearful  as  ten  long  years  of  weary  pain,  — 
Pallid  as  death,  —  deep  lines  about  the  lips, 
And  wide,  dark  circles  round  the  sunken  eyes,  — 
She  cried  in  piteous  fear,  all  else  forgot, — 
"  Piero,  —  sweet  Heaven  !     Piero,  thou  hast  been 

in, 

Art   ill   even    now,  and  wouldst   conceal   it  from 

me,  — 
Stricken  with  some  swift,  awful,  mortal  ailment ! " 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  83 

He  shook   his   head.     "  Nay,  Nay,  fear  not,"  he 

said, 

"  It  is  not  that ! "     And  then  bethought  himself, 
And   nodded    faintly  down   to    her,  while    some- 
thing 

Like  the  pale  shadow  of  a  ghastly  smile 
Stole  for  an  instant  to  the  bloodless  lips, — 
u  But  ay,  if  thou  so  wilt,  —  mayhap  I  bear 
A  mortal  ailment  in  my  veins!     But,  Love, 
They  tell  me  this,  like  other  ills  that  kill, 
Will  send  me  on  the  way  to  Heaven ! " 

And  then 

Perceiving  how  most  passing  fair  she  looked, 
As  now  the  dusky  mantle,  slipping  down, 
Revealed  the   pure,  white   gown,  that  seemed  to 

robe 

Her    form   in   soft   dim    lights   and   pearly   shad- 
ows, 

A  pale  pink  autumn  rose  upon  her  breast, 
The  sunny  hair  blown  by  the  wind  without 
To  delicate  ringlets  round  the  snowy  brow, 
And  the  sweet  face,  the  beauteous,  trustful  eyes, 
So  wont  to  shine  with  eager,  joyous  life, 
Lifted    to    his,  —  now    full   of   troubled  question- 
ing,— 
He  suddenly  turned  away,  and  groaned  aloud. 


84  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  half  slowly, 
Unsteady,  puzzled  wonder  in  her  voice. 
"Nay,  pray  thee  speak,  and  tell  me  what  it  is 
That  thou  wouldst  have  me  offer  up  to  God  !  " 

"  Not   gold    and    gems    and   satin    gowns,  —  Oh 

Heaven, 

Were  't  but  all  riches  of  the  earth  and  seas !  " 
Burst  from  him  now  in  fierce  despair,  while  yet 
He  ventured  not  to  look  at  her  again,  — 
"  But  what   hast  thou,  —  what  I,  —  what   both  of 

us, 

Knit  with  our  deepest  and  most  tender  life, 
More  passing  precious  to  our  inmost  souls 
Than  all,  save  their  salvation,  —  all,  save  God  ?  " 

"  Our   love ! "    she  cried  at  once,  with   blanching 

cheek, 
And  yet  again,  —  "  Our  Love  ! " 

He  did  not  speak, 
But  only  bowed  his  head  in  mute  assent. 

"  And    what    of    that  ? "    she   asked,    with    flying 

breath, 
Wringing  the  hands  she  had  unconsciously 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  85 

Locked     close     together,  —  "I    am     blind,    may- 
hap,— 

My  senses  darkened  by  a  sudden  cloud,  — 
I  do  not  catch  thy  meaning  even  yet ! 
Piero,  't  is  thou  now  who  art  torturing  me ; 
I  do  beseech  thee,  by  that  very  love, 
Take  pity,  —  give  me  light,  —  end  this   suspense, 
Speak  out  this  mystery,  whate'er  it  be, 
In  one  bold  word  at  last ! " 

A  breathless  pause,  — 
A  torturing,  long  eternity   to  both, — 
And  then  there  broke  from  his  unwilling  lips, 
Faltering    and    slow,  —  "  Have    mercy,    sweetest 

Saints ! 

God  calls  us  to  an  awful  sacrifice, — 
I  am  to  be  a  Priest ! " 

For  one  brief  moment 

She  gazed  at  him  wide-eyed,  her  trembling  arms 
Dropped  helpless  at  her  side,  not  comprehending 
How  in  good  truth  that  one,  swift,  blasting 

word, 

Unerring  as  a  deadly  bolt  from  Heaven, 
Had  shivered  into  instant  ruin,  hopeless 
And  irretrievable,  all  present  joy, 
All  golden  memories  of  the  happy  past, 


86  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

All  sweetest  future  hope  in  both  their  lives. 
Then    the    hot    blood     flushed    burning    to    her 

brow, 

And  moving  forward  with  unsteady  step, 
She  suddenly  flung  herself  upon  his  breast, 
With  one  sharp  cry, — 

"  A  Priest !     My  God,  my  God  ! 
No,  no !     I  love,  I  hold  thee,  —  thou  art  mine, 
I  will  not  let  thee  go  !  " 

Yet  as  he  felt 

The  wildly  throbbing  heart  upon  his  own, 
Her    passionate    lips    on    his,    there    seemed    to 

pass 

An  icy  breath  through  all  his  quivering  frame ; 
A  sudden,  awful  hush,  a  stony  calm, 
Fell  on  his  travailing  soul.     The  reeling  ground 
Was  swept  away,  and  sank  beneath  his  feet 
Down,  down  unending  far,  and  he  himself 
Lifted  above  the  vanishing,  dim  earth, 
Stood  looking  back,  and  judging  .earthly  things 
As  from  a  vast,  immeasurable  height. 
And    through    the    wondrous     silence    heard    the 

words, 
"  God    wills,    God   wills    it ! "  ringing    sweet   and 

clear, 
And  knew  the  agony  of  death  was  past, 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  8/ 

And  the  hour  come  wherein  the  Lord  Himself 
Bade  him  press  forward  without  fear. 

And  thus, 

Slowly  and  softly,  yet  with  steady  touch, 
He    loosed    the    clinging    hands    from   round  his 

neck, 

And  holding  them  an  instant  to  his  breast 
Met  with  unflinching  glance  the  eyes  grown  dark 
With  anguish  now,  and  fixed  upon  his  face 
In  passionate  pleading,  —  and  so  pressing  her 
With  gentle  force  into  a  seat  close  by, 
Said,  in  a  firm,  clear  voice,  —  and    plainly  heard 
Each  word  he  uttered,  yet  it  seemed  another 
Who  spoke  and  moved  without  his  will, — 

"  Maria, 
Beloved,  thou  hast  shown  me  once  Heaven  gave 

thee 

A  lofty  spirit,  and  most  noble  soul. 
Dost  thou  remember  how,  not  long  ago, 
We  spoke  of  love  and  parting  here,  and  thou 
Didst  tell  me  thou  couldst  find  it  in  thy  heart 
To  give  me  up,  —  thyself  to  bid  me  go, 
If  I  were  called  in  some  great,  godly  cause  ? 
I  am  thus  called,  —  in  the  most  godly  cause 
Man  ever  knew  !  " 

Then  while  he  stood  before  her. 


88  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

Though  sometimes  moving  off  a  pace  or  two, 
He  for  the  second  time  told  all  his  tale, 
Warming  again  to  fiery  eloquence, 
For  all  the  stony  quiet  in  his  soul, 
In  that  great   cause.      Told   all  from  the   begin- 
ning 

Of  his  first  doubt,  while  she,  with  eyes  aglow, 
And  a  bright,  feverish  spot  on  either  cheek, 
Sat  leaning  forward,  drinking  in  each  word 
In  utter  silence. 

Only  once,  when  he 

For  a  brief  instant  paused,  she  slowly  asked, — 
"It  is  not  then  because  thou  lovest  me  less?" 

"  Because    I    love    thee    less  ? "    he   cried,    "  Oh 

Heaven, 
And  thinkest  thou  that  my  soul  had  then  been 

rent 
By  all  the  mortal  pangs  that  stabbed  it  now  ?  " 

And  she  again,  in  the  same  strange,  dead  voice,  — 
"  And  will  God  bid  us  offer  up  our  love, 
Not  in  life  only,  but  in  spirit  too,  — 
To  pluck  from  out  our  hearts  the  very  thought 
And  image  of  each  other  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,. 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  89 

A  thousand  times  !     The  Lord  Himself  demands 

not 

What  through  Himself  is  made  impossible  ! 
Maria,  nay,  —  I  swear  to  thee  again, 
Whate'er  beside  or  life  or  death  may  bring, 
I  could   not   cease   to   love   thee,  —  Heaven  nor 

earth, 

Nor  all  the  legions  of  grim  Hell  itself, 
Shall  ever  pluck  thy  image  from  my  heart ! 
While  life  and  breath  and  consciousness   endure, 
We  still  may  cherish  loving  thought  and  memory 
Of  one  another,  —  thy  dear  name  shall  mingle 
With  that  of  Saints  I  call  on,  —  the  Madonna 
I  worship  wear  the  features  of  thy  face  ! " 
He  cried  it  well-nigh  fiercely.     Yet  for  all 
The  fervor  of  his  speech,  felt  dimly  still 
That  sense  of  strange  aloofness  from  himself, 
And  how  his  glowing  words  appeared  but  like 
A  feeble  echo  of  the  past,  put  forth 
Rather  by  one  remembering  hours  of  passion 
Than  him  who  lives  them  in  the  burning  now. 

She  said  no  more,  and  he  took  up  again 
The  thread  of  his  discourse  where  he  left  off,  — 
Told  of  the  wondrous  visions  of  that  night 
In  the  arena,  —  of  the  mortal  combat,  — 


QO  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Of  Christ, —  and  the  Crusaders,  —  and  the  shout 
"  God  wills,   God   wills    it ! "    that    so    long  had 

rung 

Through  all  the  echoing  chambers  of  his  soul, 
Drowning  all  else. 

She  listened  motionless 
Nor  broke  again  upon  his  eloquence, 
By  any  word.     But  once  when  first  he  spoke 
Of  Fra  Girolamo  in  their  last  meeting,  — 
How  he  exhorted  him  by  Heaven  and  earth, 
Not  to  deny  his  God,  —  she  suddenly  threw 
Both  hands  out  far  from  her,  as  if  in  protest, 
And  a  faint  shiver  shook  her  frame. 

But  he, 

Now  pacing  back  and  forth,  and  wholly  wrapt 
In  his  discourse,  looked  not  her  way  again 
For  many  moments.     Did  not  mark  how  all 
The  feverish  brightness  of  her  cheek  and  eye 
Had  died  away,  and  she  turned  gradually 
White  as  her  snowy  robe,  and  whiter  still, 
Ay,  pallid  as  the  hue  of  very  death  ; 
That  she  leaned  back,  the  ashen  lips  firm  set, 
Grasping  the  chair  with  hard,  convulsive  hands, 
Like  one  who,  stricken  to  the  quivering  life, 
Would  yet  shut  in  the  cry  of  agony, 
While  all  unconscious  breaking  from  her  eyes, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  gi 

Great    silent   tears   rolled    down    unchecked,    un- 
heeded, 
O'er  the  wan  cheeks. 

But  when  he  ended  now, 

And  waiting  some  response  that  did  not  come, 
Ventured  at  last  to  turn  to  her  once  more, 
And    saw    her    thus, — so    white    and    still    and 

brave, 

So  filled  and  wrung  with  sorest  anguish,  yet 
So  strong  in  noblest  courage  and  resolve,  — 
The  sight  unlocked  for  smote  his  shaken  soul 
With  such  a  mad,  intolerable  pang 
Of  passionate  love,  and  tender  grief  and  pity, 
That  all  the  icy  dumbness  which  so  late 
Had  struck  his  heart  in  fetters,  suddenly  burst, 
And  for  another  instant  earth  reclaimed  him, 
And  falling  on  his  knees  with  gushing  tears 
And  one  wild  cry,  —  "  Maria  !  —  God,  my  God  ! 
Demand  of  me  what  is  in  mortal  power, 
Not  this,  not  this,  —  I  cannot,  cannot  do  't,  — 
/  will  not  give  her  up  /"  he  hid  his  face, 
Sobbing  aloud,  deep  in  her  garment's  hem. 

She  suffered  it  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
Then  looking  up,  and  finding  only  now 
She  too  was  weeping,  hastily  dried  her  tears, 


Q2  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  slowly  rose,  laying  a  gentle  hand 
On  his  bowed  head. 

"Nay,  Piero  mine,"  she  said, 
And  the  low,  tender  voice  was  firm  and  clear,  — 
"  Not  so,  —  this  is  not  well  for  thee  or  me !  — 
Beloved,  go,  —  redeem  thy  pledge,  accomplish 
The  sacred  duty  God  bids  thee  perform, 
For  I  myself  so  charge  thee  !     Not  in  vain 
Dost  thou  recall  the  words  I  spoke  that  day, — 
Thou  shalt  not  find  me  feebler  and  more  small 
Than   thou    hadst   cause    to    think   me,    nor   yet 

wanting 

In  larger  faith,  now  that  the  hour  has  come 
When     faith    is    tried.      I    will    not     flinch,  —  I 

said 

I  could  renounce  thee,  yield  thy  life  and  mine, 
If  thou  wert  called  in  some  great,  godly  cause, 
And  that  my  soul  should  hold  thee  but  more 

dear, 

For  that  immortal  glory  of  thine  own. 
I  give  thee  up  to  God  !      Rise,  I   beseech    thee, 
Rise  and  be  strong  !  " 

And  drawn  as  by  some  power 
Compelling  blind  subjection,  he  obeyed, 
And  rose  upon  his  feet,  and  turned  to  her, 
Though  yet  for  many  moments  he  discerned 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  93 

Her  face  but  dimly,  through  his  streaming  tears, 
And  listened  blindly,  while  she  said  again, — 
"Thou   thinkest  it  right,  and    that   alone   should 

serve 

To  tell  me  all  there's  need  for  me  to  learn, 
Yet  can  I  clearly  for  myself  perceive, 
The  Lord  Himself  in  truth  has  summoned  thee. 
But  know  this,  too, — thy  path  to  this  resolve, 
To  accept  His   call,  has   been    through   tears   of 

blood, 

And  God  forbid,  Beloved,  I  should  add 
A  feather's  weight  to  thy  sore  burden,  prove 
A  clog  and  hindrance  to  thy  toiling  feet! 
Thou   thinkest  it  right  and  lovest   me,  —  naught, 

thou  sayst, 

Shall  ever  pluck  my  image  from  thy  heart,  — 
It  is  enough,  —  I  can  endure  all  else  ! " 

He  plainly  saw  her  now,  and  though  she  spoke 

With  simple,  quiet  sweetness  as  before, 

He     knew    this     hour    had     burned     away    and 

withered 

Forever  and  past  hope,  from  out  her  soul, 
That  last,  sweet  touch  of  tender,  lingering  child- 
hood, 
That  made  her  sunny  life  so  beautiful,  — 


94  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Struck   dumb   for  all  time   hence,  on  those  grave 

lips, 

Gay  song  and  merry  laughter,  leaving  her 
A  full-grown  woman.     One  to  whom  had  come, 
And  who  unquestioning  and  resigned  accepted, 
Even  as  her  natural  birthright  in  the  world, 
All  the  sad  heritage  of  womanhood, 
Of  tears  and  suffering  and   most  bitter  hurts 
Got  in  the  fray,  and  patiently  endured 
In  the  unmurmuring  dignity  of  silence; 
And  yet  a  womanhood  that  left  untouched 
The  perfect,  virgin  purity  that  hedged  her 
Round  like  a  halo  ever.     And  though  now 
His  eyes  once  more  welled  over  with  hot  tears, 
A  something  in  her  voice  and  look,  rapt  her 
So  far  away  from  him,  he  stood  apart, 
And  ventured  not,  for  all  his  thirsting  soul, 
To  snatch  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Ay,  aught,  aught  else 

I  can  endure,  so  we  still  love  each  other,  — 
Endure  with  thee  —  our  souls  made  strong,  Be- 
loved, 

Even  by  the  very  greatness  of  our  love, 
For  any  sacrifice !  "  she  said  again, 
Unconsciously  in  darkness  now  repeating 
The  self-same  words  she  spoke  when   skies  were 
fair. 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  95 

"  Love  lives,  —  so  all  is  well,  ay,  passing  well ! 
For  now,  what  though  we  offer  up  to  God 
All  dearest  joys  of  earth,  — within  our  hearts 
We  still  may  bear  each  other  tender  thoughts, 
Still  meet  in  spirit  day  by  day  as  now, 
And  find  each  other  in  that  common  love 
Of  God  and  man  and  duties  manifold, 
In  that  new  life  we  both  shall  know,  —  I,  too, 
Henceforth   renounce    the    world,    and    in    some 

Cloister 
Amid  sweet  charities,  will  end  my  days." 

But  at  that  word  he  started,  —  and  cried  out, — 
"  Maria,  —  Nay,  not  so  !  —  I  thought,  —  I  weened, 
It  might  be  thou  so  young  and  fair,  —  shouldst 

some  time 

Learn  to  forget,  mayhap,  —  and  yet  and  yet  "  — 
But  paused  abruptly,  his  faint,  faltering  speech, 
Brought  to  a  sudden  stop  by  one  swift  glance 
And  gesture  from  Maria,  instantly 
Catching  the  import  of  his  broken  words. 

"  Piero,  not  that !  "  she  said,  and  in  her  voice 
There    thrilled   a   new,    strange    note,    while    she 

threw  out 
One  hand  as  warding  off  some  unseen  foe, 


96  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  all  the  slender,  yielding  form  seemed  clothed 

With  something  like  a  touch  of  majesty,  — 

As    some    fair,  mournful    queen    uncrowned,  who 

sees 

Her  throne  in  ruins,  but  yet  ever  holds 
The  memory  of  her  greatness  unforgot,  — 
"Not   that,  if  thou   still   lovest,  and  wouldst   not 

wound  me 

More  sore  and  deep  than  any  word  of  thine 
Has  pierced  me  yet !     The  altar  of  our  love 
We  thought  to  rear  in  gladness  here  on  earth 
Lies  broken,  but,  thank  God !  not  desecrated, 
Nor  with  its  sacred  fires  gone  out  or  spent. 
No  stranger  hand  shall  ever  touch  the  shrine, 
No  stranger  foot  approach  the  spot,  hallowed 
Through  life  and  death  to  thee  and  me  alone. 
I  may  not  be  thy  wife,  and  can  but  live 
The  bride  of  Heaven.     Ay,  it  is  thus  resolved 
Past  question  or  recall !     Even  here  and  now, 
As  thou  wast  speaking,  there  rose  up  before  me 
All  the  new  life  we  both  must  enter  on,  — 
There  is  much  work  for  us  in  this  sad  world 
Among  God's  poor  and  aged  and  infirm,  — 
We  shall  not  be  unhappy,  and  the  Lord 
Will    send    us    strength    at    need!      I    may   not 

dare"  — 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  97 

She  said,  and  with  a  faltering,  dreary  gesture 
Put  one  slow  hand  an  instant  to  her  brow  — 
"  To  tell  thee  yet  that  God  Himself  has  deigned 
To  summon  me  to  this,  —  it  is  thy  voice, 
Piero,  thy  voice  alone,  that  now  I  follow, 
But  some  time,  mayhap,  my  soul,  too,  shall  be 
Among  His  Own  Elect !  " 

And  standing  now 
With   hands    clasped   humbly  to  her   breast,  and 

eyes 

Filled  with  unconscious,  passing  beauteous  light, 
Uplifted  to  the  heavens  in  trust  sublime, — 
She  seemed  to  Piero,  gazing  breathless  still, 
The  white-robed  Priestess  of  those  sacred  fires 
Of  their  immortal  love,  that  she  would  guard 
Forever,  as  she  said,  —  and  all  undone 
He  suddenly  bowed  him  to  the  ground  again, 
And   touched   her    garment's   hem  with    reverent 

lips 

Of  passionate  adoration,  crying  out : 
"Maria, — Angel,  —  Saint!     No  more,  no  more, 
Lest    thou    wouldst    have    me    perish,  —  oh,    no 

more ! " 
And    then    before     him     queen    and    saint    and 

priestess, 
All,  all  had  vanished,  and  his  swimming  eyes 


98  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Saw     nothing     more,    save     but    the     worshiped 

woman, 

And  springing  up  now,  with  a  stifled  cry, 
He  snatched  her  in  his  hungry  arms  at  last, 
And  strained  her  to  his   heart  in  speechless  rap- 
ture, 

Covering  her  hair  and  brow  and  eyes  and  lips 
Again  and  yet  again  with  fervent  kisses, 
As  if  he  drank  his  last  at  that  sweet  fount, 
And  could  not  drink  enough,  but  still  unfilled, 
Though   death   were    in    the   draught,   drank  on 

and  on, 
With  thirst  unquenched. 

And  for  long  moments  found 
No  word,  save  in  a  breathless,  broken  murmur,  — 
"  O  Love,  Love,  Love  !  —  Maria !  —  Oh,  thank 

God ! " 
But    then  at  length,  — u  Thou  'st    given    me    life, 

new  life,  — 

Made  strong  and  glad  again  my  fainting  soul ; 
Nor  dare  I  say  but  for  thyself  thou  too 
Hast  ehosen  passing  well !     We  both  shall  bring 
Our  love  enshrined  in  larger  love  to  God, 
As  in  a  casket  set  with  priceless  gems, 
Before  the  throne  of  His  immortal  Grace, 
And  He  shall  take  the  offering  and  some  time, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  99 

What  now  we  thus  renounce  for  Him  in  tears, 
Give  back  in  tenfold  joy,  — grant  us  at  last 
To  meet  in  Heaven,  made  one  again    forever,  — 
Love,  oh,  my  Love  ! " 

"  But  here  on  earth  ? "  she  asked, 
And  slowly  raised  her  head  from  off  his  breast, 
Where  still  his  clinging  arms  would  hold  her 

close. 

"  Beloved,  tell  me,  pray,  our  parting  here 
Must  not  be  made  at  once,  —  this  very  hour  ?  " 
And  for  the  first  time  now,  the  steady  voice 
Broke  at  those  trembling  words. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said, 

And  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh.     "  No,  not  at  once  ! 
I  am  to  enter  San  Miniato's  School, 
But  all  the  halls  are  full,  and  I  must  wait, — 
Some  weeks  mayhap,  —  until  the  next  in  turn 
Shall  be  dismissed,  and  so  make  room  for  me. 
Nay,  I  shall  come  to-morrow,  —  I  myself 
Must  tell  thy  Uncle  how  our  lives  are  changed,  — 
Come    several    times,  —  ay,    oft-times   more,  per- 
chance, 

Though  not  so  oft,  may  be,  as  heretofore, 
For,  Love,  methinks  even  from  this  very  hour 
Our  souls  in  renunciation  should  begin 
Their  godly  task." 


IOO  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

She  gently  smiled  and  nodded, 
And,  wholly  soothed  again  from  that  swift  fear, 
Said    but    once     more :     "  Ay,  —  all    is    passing 

well ! " 

And  thus  with  bravely  smiling  lips  and  eyes 
Bid  him  farewell  at  last,  —  it  must  have  been 
Far  in  the  night,  she  thought,  —  and  as  he  went 
With  hasty  steps,  not  looking  back,  she  marked 
How  the  fierce  storm  long  gathering  overhead 
In  darkened  skies  had  burst  upon  the  earth, 
And  heard  the  wild  rain  rushing  down  without, 
And  distant  thunder  roll.     But  quietly 
Passed  onward  to  her  silent  chamber,  where 
The  eternal  lamp  burned  at  the  Virgin's  shrine, 
With  dim,  unfaltering  light,  sent  to  her  rest 
The  drowsy  little  maid,  who  started  up 
With  stammered  words  of  half  apology, 
And  then  herself  threw  off  her  outer  robes, 
Unbound  and  swiftly  braided  for  the  night 
The  long,  rich  masses  of  bright  hair,  and  went 
To  kneel  in  prayer  in  the  accustomed  place 
On  the  low  cushion,  'neath  the  crucifix, — 
The  Saviour's  image,  carved  of  some  dark  wood 
And  yellow  ivory,  made  priceless  rich 
By  time  and  skill  and  thousand  saintly  memories 
Clustering  about  each  line.     But  when  she  strove 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  IOI 

To  find  the  wonted,  all  familiar  words, 
And  would  have  lifted  up  her  heart  to  Heaven, 
Prepared  to  dedicate  and  give  it  wholly 
In  that  new  sacrifice,  all  strength  and  calm 
Suddenly  forsook  her,  —  all  the  fortitude 
And  wondrous  courage,  drawn  from  Piero's  pres- 
ence, 

That  while  he  lingered  and  she  leaned  on  him, 
Feeling  her  fervor  kindle  at  his  own, 
Sustained  her,  —  seemed  to  rise  beneath  her  feet 
A  magic  growth  that  bore  her  up  with  it 
Far    from    the    world,    close    to    the    stars    and 

God,— 

Gave  way  beneath  her,  like  a  crumbling  tower, 
And  sent  her  back  to  earth  with  one  sharp  shock. 
Till    falling  forward  prone  upon  her  face, 
While  a  mad  gush  of  tears  broke  from  her  eyes, 
And  sobs  that  would  have  rent  the  slender  frame 
Burst  from  the  quivering  lips  unhindered  now, 
Her  bleeding  soul  cried  out :  O  God,  my  God, 
Impossible  !     It  could  not,  could  not  be  ! 
Would   there  be  earth  and   heaven,  and  day  and 

night, 
And   flowers    and    sunshine,  —  Spring    and    Fall 

and  Summer, 
Ay,  very  life  itself,  without  their  love ! 


102  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  must  she  live  without  him  all  her  days, 
His  smile,  his  voice,  his  loving  word  and  touch, 
Whose  every  breath  and  look  were  passing  dear, 
Whose  thought   and   image  had  been  twined  and 

knit 

So  long  and  so  indissolubly  close 
With  every  living  fibre  of  her  soul, 
She  could  not  now  remember  when  her  heart 
Had  throbbed  at  all,  ere  it  could  throb  for  him ! 
O  God,  my  God,  have  mercy !    O  sweet  Christ, 
O  Holy  Virgin,  —  all  ye  Saints  and  Angels  ! 
How  had   she    sinned  that  there  should  come  to 

her, 

Her  young,  glad  life,  this  agony  of  pain, 
Sorer  than  all  —  ! 

And  there  rose  up  before  her 
The  death-sad  words  she  read  in  that  old  book 
That  unforgotten  day  not  long  ago,  — 
Not  long?     O  Heaven,  a  dark  eternity, 
A  troubled  sea,  rolled  'twixt  that  day  and  this  ! 
"  Soul,  art  thou   prepared  to  take  upon  thyself   the 
awful    burden    of   Love  for  Love's   sake    alone  ?    To 
know  hunger  and    thirst,   to  be    pricked  with    sharp 
thorn,  and  pierced  by  a  sword  of  fire  ?  " 
And  then  her  heart    turned    on    itself   and  ques- 
tioned, — 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  103 

And  if  thou   couldst,  wouldst  thou   make   all  un- 
done, 

Sweep  this  great  love,  with  all  its  deadly  anguish, 
From  out  thy  life,  as  it  had  never  been  ? 
And  all  her  soul  rose  up  in  passionate  protest,  — 
No,  no,  —  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times  ! 
More   sweet,    my    God,  that  I   have    known    and 

loved  him, 

For  all  the  bitterness  of  this  fierce  hour, 
Than  had  I  never  known  !     Through  him  I  found 
And  hold  true  life  eternal  here  on  earth, 
Through    him   shall    some   time    come   to   me   in 

heaven 

Life  everlasting.     O  my  Love,  my  Love ! 
And  thou  still  art  my  Love.      My  God,  I  thank 

Thee, 
That  all  is  thus,  and  passing  well ! 

And  then 

Came  to  her  mind  the  soul  that  had  endured 
In  one  brief  moment  agony  outweighing 
A  thousand  years  of  Hell,  to  see  her  love 
Clasping  another  woman  in  his  arms, 
And   thought   again,  while  all   her  heart  seemed 

wrung 

With     infinite     tender     yearning    and     compas- 
sion, — 


IO4  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Oh,  poor,  poor  stricken  spirit,  quite  forlorn  ! 
Dear    Lord,   who    dealst    with    me    in    wondrous 

mercy, 

What  is  my  grief  to  hers,  —  I  have  not  lost  him  ! 
And  thinking  thus  her  tears  flowed  freely  still, 
But  now  more  quietly,  and  more  for  her 
Who  not  amid  the  very  joys  of  heaven 
Could   e'er   know   peace,   than    for  herself,    and 

slowly 

Her  sobs,  grown  faint  and  fainter,  died  away, 
Even  while  she   pleaded :  "  Oh  my  God,  I  know 
It  is  not  possible  this  cup  should  pass, 
But  yet  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  !     Give  me 
But  strength,  but  strength  to  take  my  burden  up, 
And  bear  it  bravely  on !  " 

And  so  lay  still,  — 

Her  burning  face  pillowed  upon  her  arms, 
Her  floating  tresses  half  unbound  again, 
Making  a  shimmering  veil  about  her  form,  — 
Quite  still,  unmoving,  without  sound  or  tear, 
A  long,  long  time,  —  how  long  she  might  not  say, 
Yet  felt  how  gradually  a  new,  sweet  peace 
Stole  gently  back,  and  sank  into  her  soul, 
To  fill  it  as  with  sweet,  soft,  fragrant  balm,  — 
God's    blessed    peace,    that    passeth  understand- 
ing,— 


PIERO   DA    CASTIGLIONE.  1 05 

And    knew  her  prayer  was    answered,  —  that  for 

her, 

Her  too,  the  agony  of  death  was  done 
Forevermore. 

Slowly  she  rose  at  last, 

And  now  crept  to  her  couch,  and  as  she  glanced 
Through  the  dim  window,  saw  a  tardy  dawn 
Whitening  the  skies,  and  that  the  storm  was  over, 
But  that  brown  leaves  and  blossoms  strewed  the 

ground, 

And  that  in  one  brief,  tearful  night,  all,  all 
The  summer's  lingering  glories  had  departed, 
And  dreary  autumn  come  into  the  world. 


And  that  blest  peace  of  God  abode  with  her, 
Well-nigh  unbroken,  through  the  coming  days. 
For  though  her  Uncle,  who  had  set  his  heart 
Upon  this  union,  stormed  awhile,  when  Piero 
First  broke   the    astounding    news    to   him,   and 

swore 
They  were    two    fools,  who   knew    not    their  own 

minds, 

And  yet  would  live  to  rue  the  rash  resolve, 
And  dear,  fond  Lisa  wept  to  break  her  heart, 
And  all  their  common  friends  made  much  ado, 


IO6  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

Held  up  their  hands  in  marvel  and  surprise, 

And  dubiously  shook  wise  or  foolish  heads,  — 

Maria  her  own  self,  alone  unmoved 

Amid  the  general  stir  and  cry,  bore  all 

With  sweet  serenity  and  gentle  patience, 

Soothed  the  sharp  wrath  of  one,  and  comforted 

The  other's  passionate  grief  as  best  she  might, 

Meeting  all  fear  and  doubt  and  opposition 

With  but  the  brief,  unalterable  words,  — 

"  Piero  is  called  of  God,  and  I  through  him." 

And  came  in  truth  to  silence  them  at  last, 

While  to  herself  she  ever  said  again,  — 

"  He  thinks  it  right  and  loves  me,  —  all  is  well !  " 

So  when  poor  Lisa,  tossing  up  her  apron 

In  blank  despair  about  her  head,  cried  out: 

"  But    oh,    sweet     Saints,    the    wedding-gown,  — 

beseech  you, 
The   beauteous  wedding-gown  !  "  she  smiled,  and 

said  : 

"  Why,  that  will  not  be  lost,  for  I  shall  wear  it 
The  day  that  I  am  made  the  Bride  of  Heaven." 
Till  Lisa,  wondering,  thought  a  miracle 
Had  verily  been  wrought  in  the  dear  heart 
Of  her  Madonna  !     Ah,  if  she  herself 
Had  some  time  known  such  sore  probation,  thus 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  ID? 

Been  ever  parted  from  her  Bartolo, 
Ere  they  were  wed,  or  now,  —  oh  Grace,  what  had 
Become  of  her!     Nay,  might  she  be  forgiven, 
But  God  be  thanked,  not  all  were  called  to  be 
The  Bride  of  Heaven! 

But  once,  when  first  again 

Since  the  great  change  had  come  into  her  life, 
She,  on  Maria's  earnest  prayer,  had  brought 
The  little  Tito  up  to  her,  Lisa 
Had   seen  the  marvelous   courage   that   sustained 

her 

Past  all  belief,  for  one  brief  instant  fail. 
For  while   she  played    and   laughed  with   him   as 

oft, 

She  suddenly  stopped  and  knelt  upon  the  floor, 
And  caught  him  to  her  heart,  and  burying  thus 
Her  quivering  face  on  the  bright,  curly  head, 
Broke  into  weeping,  silent  and  subdued, 
But  yet  that  shook  her  with  its  inward  passion, 
Till  Lisa,  her  own  eyes  swift  welling  over 
With    dumb,    responsive    tears,    thought    in    her 

heart,  — 

Oh,  sweetest  Saints,  she  weeps  the  little  Tito 
That  might  have  come  to  her !   and   scarce   held 

back 
A  stifling,  piteous  sob. 


IO8  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

But  in  a  moment 

Maria  then  looked  up,  and  shook  her  head, 
Dashing  her  tears  away,  and  strove  to  smile 
With  that  brave  smile  which  had  been  hers  of  late, 
Since  the  great  change,  —  a  smile  more  sad  than 

tears 

It  seemed  to  Lisa,  —  and  released  the  child, 
And  as  divining  all  the  other's  thoughts, 
Said  gently :  "  Nay,  beseech  thee,  Lisa  mine, 
Be  not  so  grieved !     I  am  but  weak  and  foolish, 
For  all  is  well  with   me,  —  believe,  —  most  well ! 
Why,  I  shall  have  about  me  every  day 
Full  many  little  Titos,  —  none,  mayhap, 
As  fair  as  thine,  but  yet  I  love  them  all. 
I  Ve  told  thee,  that  above  the  Convent's  portal 
Where    I    shall   go,  our  Lord's    blest    words   are 

writ  — 

'  Suffer  the  little  ones  to  come  to  me.' 
The  Sisters  take  poor  orphan  children  in 
To  clothe  and  feed  and  lead  to  holy  ways, 
And  I  may  work  among  them  when  I  please, 
So  the  good  Abbess  told  me,  whom  I  saw 
At   once,    thou   knowst,  when    this    was    first    re- 
solved. 

Though  I  am  not  to  enter  there,  till  Piero 
Shall  join  his  order." 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  109 

Yes,  and  he  had  come 

As  he  had  promised,  on  the  morrow  following 
That  unforgotten  night,  and  after,  too,  — 
Not    oft,  —  but    once,    mayhap,    in    seven     long 

days,  — 

And  not  to  tarry  long,  but  still  he  came 
Again  and  yet  again,  and  to  Maria 
It  ever  brought  a  joy  deep  as  of  old, 
To  look  once  more  on  that  beloved  face, 
Grown  calmer  now,  if  sometimes  stern  and  sad, 
Than  she  of  late  had  known  it.     Ay,  his  presence 
Brought   sunshine    with   it    still,  though    both   of 

them, 

As  if  in  silent  understanding,  mindful 
Of  what  he  said  of  renunciation,  best 
Begun  even  now,  at  once,  had  gradually 
Dropped  all  the  infinite  tender  words  of  love 
And  soft  endearment,  —  weaned  them   more  and 

more 

From  all  its  passionate,  nameless,  sweet  caresses, 
And  met  and  parted  now  on  many  a  day 
With  but  a  kindly  glance  and  clasp  of  hands, 
Like  sober,  old-time  friends.     And  so  at  last 
Came  to  talk  calmly  oft,  as  of  a  thing 
Most  natural,  of  their  new  life  and  duties, 
Of  all  the  noble  work  for  God  and  man 


HO  PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE. 

That  waited  them,  —  as,,  they  had  once  been  wont 
To  talk  of  that  dear  home  they  thought  to  make 
Together,  in  the  happiness  of  love, — 
Yet  dauntless,  with  unflinching  souls  pressed  on, 
Casting  no  glance  behind. 

One  only  time, 
When    he    had     stayed     beyond    his    wont,    did 

Piero  — 

With  fleeting  touch  upon  the  gold-brown  hair 
That,  as  he  vowed,  had  caught  and  held  the  sun- 
light, 

And  been  his  heart's  delight  —  ask  with  a  sigh, 
"  And  must  all  this  fall  'neath  the  cruel  shears  ?  " 
"Ay,  and  this  too,"  she  answered, —  "ay,  this 

too ! " 

And  one  brief  instant  twined  a  timid  finger 
Through  his  dark  locks,  as  she  had  bravely  done 
In  bygone  days,  a  thousand  happy  times, 
Then,  swiftly  flushing,  drew  her  hand  away, 
And  both  one  instant  sat  with  face  averted ; 
But  when  they  sought  each  other's  eyes  again, 
They  faintly  smiled,  and  took  each  other's  hands, 
And  spoke  of  other  things. 

And  once  he  said  : 

"  Beloved,  —  for  I  still  may  call  thee  so, 
A  little  while,  ay,  and  in  truth  forever, — 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  Ill 

In  that  large   meaning  taught  us  by  our  faith, 
Sometimes  methinks  that  seeing  naught  below 
Which  pleased  Him  half  so  well,  God  did  so  love 
Our  blessed,  priceless  love  above  all  others, 
He  would  preserve  it  pure  and  undented, 
Undimmed,  unsmirched  by  any  earthly  taint, 
As  first  it  sprang  within  our  souls,  even  like 
A  stainless,  radiant,  virgin-hearted  lily, 
Unutterably  fair  and  sweet,  —  and  so 
In  tender  mercy  plucked  it  here  on  earth, 
To  set  it  in  His  Heavenly  Garden,  there 
To  bloom  untouched,  in  never-fading  beauty, 
Through  all  eternity  !     I  think,  in  truth, 
We  should  have  loved  each  other,  thou  and  I, 
Through  all  the  coming  years  of  mortal  life,  — 
And  yet  who  knows,  who  knows  what   might  be- 
tide ! 

We  are  but  poor,  frail  creatures,  full  of  sin, 
And  Satan  has  a  thousand  wiles  and  snares 
Wherewith  to  lure  our  souls.  But  now,  but 

now,  — 

O  Love,  let  us  rejoice  while  we  have  breath,  — 
What    storm,    what    chance,    what    change,    what 

touch  of  time, 

Could  blast  or  break  or  wilt  the  perfect  flower, 
At  God's  beloved  feet." 


112  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

"Ay,  Piero  mine," 

She  gently  said,  —  and  then  again  those  words, 
Uttered  so  oft,  u  ay,  all  is  passing  well ! " 
And  this  fair  image  of  the  stainless  lily 
Dwelled    with     her     long,    and     ever    gave     her 

strength. 

For  sometimes  when  she  woke  at  dead  of  night, 
And  swiftly  starting,  found  her  pillow  wet 
With  hot,  unconscious  tears  shed  in  her  sleep, 
And  her  roused  spirit  crying  out  aloud 
With  such  mad  thirst  for  its  lost  happiness 
That  not  all  fervid  prayers  she  sent  to  heaven 
Could    still    its   craving,  —  suddenly    seemed    to 

spring 

A  lily  'neath  the  very  hands  she  pressed 
Upon  her  aching  heart,  until  she  thought 
To  see  it  gleaming  through  the  dark,  and  drank 
Its  heavenly  fragrance,  and  was  comforted. 

Thus  had  some  weeks  rolled  by,  —  slow  and  yet 

fast, 

And  not  without  some  broken  gleams  of  joy, 
What   though    they   seemed   but   like   the    poor, 

scant  crumbs 

Left  over  from  a  sumptuous  feast.     Each  day 
That  Piero  came,  Maria's  eyes  had  questioned 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  113 

In  dumb,  unuttered  anguish,  —  "  And  is  this 
The  last  time  ? "     But  he  ever  shook  his  head, 
And    said,    "  Not  yet,  Love,  —  surely  thou    shalt 

learn 
When    there   is   need ! "      For  though   he    knew 

well-nigh 

The  very  hour  when  San  Miniato's  doors 
Should  open  and  send  forth  into  the  world 
Two  new,  young  Priests,  closing  on  him  instead, 
He  would  not  tell  her  too,  but  braved  alone 
The  fear  of  that  last  parting,  now  so  near, 
That  stared  him  in  the  face^  and  froze  his  blood 
Like  some  dread  Gorgon's  stony,  awful  gaze, 
Until  Maria,  lulled  by  this  delay 
To  fatal,  soft  security,  began 
To    dream,    mayhap,    these    days    and   weeks    of 

grace 

Might  still  glide  on  and  on  indefinitely, 
An  even  stream  whose  end  no  man  could  see. 

And  so  at  last  had  come  one  chilly  eve, 

With  starless   skies   and  soughing  winds,  —  't  was 

now 

Far  on  in  autumn,  —  when  Maria's  heart 
Was  filled  with  peace  so  deep  that  her  sad  eyes 
For  the  first  time  since  Piero  thus  had  come 


1 14  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

Forgot  to  ask  the  accustomed,  anxious  question. 
He  lingered  long  that  night,  ay,  far  beyond 
His  present  wont,  and  spoke  more  tender  words, 
And  unsuspecting  still,  her  secret  soul 
Rejoiced  at  both. 

But  when  he  rose  to  go, 

And,  with  a  passionate  gesture  turned  to  her, 
And  strained  her  to  his  heart,  and  touched  an 

instant 
Her    brow    and    cheeks     and    eyes    with    fervid 

lips,  — 

She  suddenly  understood,  e'en  ere  she  heard 
A  broken  whisper  a"fc  her  ear,  —  "  Beloved,  — 
God  help  us  both,  —  this  is  —  must  be  —  the 

last !  " 

But  when  no  answer  came,  and  he  glanced  down, 
He  found  that  she  hung  lifeless  in  his  arms, 
In  a  deep,  deathlike   swoon,  and   but   he   stayed 

her 

Had  fallen  at  his  feet,  and  with  a  groan 
Cried   out,  —  "  My  God,  and  have  I  slain  her !  " 

Nay, 
Came  the  swift  thought,  —  O   Heaven,  far  better 

thus! 

And  so  he  raised  in  trembling  arms  the  slight, 
Beloved  form,  and  bore  her  to  a  couch, 


PIERO   DA    CASTIGLIONE.  H$ 

And  chafed  the  marble  brow  and  icy  hands 
For  one  brief  moment,  summoned  hastily  then 
Her  little  maid,  and  when  she  came,  stood  by 
But  long  enough  to  see  if  she  revived, 
And  when  he  saw  that  a  faint,  fluttering  breath 
Stirred    the    sweet    bosom,  and    the    closed    lids 

moved, 

He  broke  away  ere  those  dear  eyes  could  open, 
Covering  his  face,  and  fled  the  house  forever. 


So  the  great  sacrifice  was  consummated. 

And  two  young  lives  and  souls  whom  God  made 

one, 

Parted  forever,  for  dear  love  of  Him. 
Winter  and  spring  and  summer  came  and  went, 
Another  and  another  changing  year, 
Finding  the  two  behind  their  Convent  walls 
Shut    from   the  world.     But    yet   there  dawned  a 

day 

When  Lisa  saw  her  blest  Madonna  robed 
In  that  fair  wedding-gown,  the  bride  of  Heaven, 
Then  in  brief  space  a  morning  when  the  doors 
Swung  open,  and  the  cloistered  ones  were  free 
To  seek  their  godly  tasks  in  wider  fields. 
And  still  the  same  old  world  spun  on  its  track, 


Il6  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

And  still  the  seasons  rolled  their  even  course, 
And  weeks   and   months  and   years   sped  one  by 

one, 

Till  ten  at  last  were  numbered,  —  a  whole  decade 
Had  added  in  slow  growth  another  ring, 
To    that    strange,    deathless,    magic    tree    called 

Time. 

The  Fra  Francesco  —  Piero  once  —  had  grown 
A  mighty  preacher  and  most  holy  man, 
Whose    fame    spread    far    and  wide   beyond   the 

town 
Through  all  the  echoing  land,  that  justly  praised 

him 

Second  to  none  save  Fra  Girolamo 
In  wondrous  power  God  granted  him  to  win 
Men's    souls    from    sin.      And    there   was    none 

among 

The  City's  poor,  or  ill,  or  sore  of  heart, 
Who  knew  not  Sor  Teresa,  —  ay,  Maria 
Di  Montfeltro,  she  had  once  been  named, — 
And  blessed  her  for  an  angel  of  sweet  mercy, 
Sent  them  by  Heaven,  —  above  all  others,  too, 
The  orphan  children,  whom  she  ever  gave 
Her    tenderest    love    and    care.     Thus    still    they 

breathed 
The  self-same  air  beneath  the  self-same  skies, 


PIERO  DA   CASTIGLIONE.  117 

Nay,  labored  oft,  mayhap,  in  neighboring  huts, 
Beside  some  couch  of  pain,  but  yet  it  chanced 
That  Piero  and  Maria,  face  to  face, 
Had  never  met  again,  save  once. 

It  was 

A  balmy,  golden  day  in  early  spring, 
When  Fra  Francesco,  passing  through  the  streets 
Alone,  and  with  bent  head,  as  was  his  wont, 
Was  roused  from  sober  meditation,  seeing 
That  round  the  scaffold  of  a  church,  new-built 
But  not  completed,  a  small  crowd  had  gathered,  — 
Some  workmen  in  their  aprons,  and  a  flock 
Of  little  girls,  —  by  their  quaint  caps  and  gowns 
He  knew  them  orphans,  —  round   some   prostrate 

form, 

A  woman,  in  dark  robes,  —  and  drawing  near, 
And    questioning    them,    he    heard,  — "  Yes,   the 

good  Sister 

Was  passing  with  her  orphans,  when  a  plank, 
Dropped  by  some  careless  lad,  fell  from  on  high, 
And  she,  perceiving  it,  sprang  suddenly  forward 
To  save  the  youngest  child  that  ran  ahead, 
And  so  herself  received  the  blow,  but  grazing 
Her   head,  they  thought,  —  they  knew    not,    was 

she  hurt, 
But  she  had  swooned,  it  seemed,  and  "  — 


Il8  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE. 

"  Stand  aside  !  " 

And  all  gave  instant  way  to  Fra  Francesco, 
As  lifting  the  light  burden  in  his  arms, 
He  bore  her  to  a  rude,  low  hut  close  by,  — 
The  workmen  kept  their  tools  here  over  night, 
And  one  slept  there  for  guard,  —  that  his  swift 

glance 

Had  marked  at  once,  and  laid  her  on  the  couch, 
Closing  the  door  behind  him. 

The  white  hood 
And    long,    dark    veil    crushed   down    about   her 

head 

Concealed  her  face,  yet  he  knew  instantly 
Whom  he  had  held  close  to  his  quivering  heart, 
In  arms  that  well-nigh  shook,  as  at  her  touch 
The  old,  familiar,  unforgotten  thrill 
Flashed  through  each  vein,  —  and  now  he  hastily 

threw 
Her  veil  aside,  with  hands  unsteady. 

Yes,— 

'Twas  she,  Maria,  who  lay  there  before  him, 
As  white  and  still,  but  yet,  thank  God,  unhurt  — 
Oh,  strange,  most  strange,  they  thus  should  meet 

again !  — 

As  when  he  saw  her  last,  long  years  ago,  — 
O  Heaven,  what  weary,  endless  years !      Maria, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  119 

Young   even   as  then,  and   beauteous,  —  nay,  but 

more, 

Time  had  but  touched  to  make  her  fairer  still 
Than  in  the  bygone  days.     Not  all  the  folds 
Of  her  close,  dusky  garb  could  wholly  hide 
The  slender  lines  of  that  pure,  virgin  form, 
And  pain  and  prayer  and  patient  sacrifice, 
Had  set  their  chastening  seal  upon  her  face, 
Till  every  feature,  radiant  from  within, 
Seemed  touched  with  sweet,  unconscious  sanctity, 
While  on  the  snowy  brow  lay  —  unawares 
Escaping  from  its  band  —  a  short,  soft  curl 
Of  the  bright  hair  that  once  had  held  the  sun. 

And  as  he  stood  thus  gazing  down  on  her, 
The  man's  deep,  fiery,  pulsing  heart,  so  long 
Crushed   back,  subdued,   denied,  but    never   con- 
quered, 

Leaped  suddenly  forth,  and,  like  a  pent-up  flame, 
In  one  wild  throb  burst  from  its  living  tomb, 
Through  all  the  cerements  of  his  priestly  vows, 
All  the  dim  ashes  chilly,  deadening  years 
Had    gathered    there    in    vain.     The    swift,    hot 

blood 

Flushed  to  his  brow,  and  sinking  on  one  knee 
He  bent  above  the  couch,  and  pressed  his  lips 


I2O  PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE, 

In  one  long,  passionate,  clinging  kiss  to  hers. 
And  felt  that  they  responded,  that  her  hands 
Stole  softly  round  his  neck,  and  heard  her 

whisper, 

With  eyes  still  closed,  as  in  a  rapturous  trance,  — 
"  Piero  !  —  My  God  !     Ah,  Piero  mine,  —  thou,  — 

thou,  — 

I  knew  that  I  should  waken  thus,  —  I  know 
We  both  have  died,  and  this  is  Paradise  !  " 

"  Not   yet !  "    he    murmured,  —  "  nay,  O  God,  — 

not  yet ! " 

And  thus  recalled,  rose  shuddering  to  his  feet, 
And  when    her  lids  were   raised,  and    she   gazed 

round 

In  questioning  wonder,  and  then  started  up, 
He  stood  far  off  from  her  with  set,  white  face, 
And  eyes  that  would  not  see  her. 

"  Sor  Teresa," 

He  gravely  said,  "we  found  you  in  a  swoon, 
Yet,  thank  the  Saints,  methinks  not  injured !     So 
If  you  be  now  restored  and  strong  enough, 
Let's  hence,  at  once, — your  orphans  anxiously 
Wait  you  without !  " 

"  Ay,  Fra  Francesco,  —  Yes, 
I  come,  and  I  am  strong !  "  she  gently  answered, 


PIERO  DA    CASTIGLIONE.  121 

And  drew  with  one  swift,  searching  glance  at  him 
The  dusky  veil  more  closely  round  her  face. 

So  in  unbroken  silence  they  passed  out 
Into  the  sunlight  of  the  street  again. 
He,  with  bent  head  and  gloomy  eyes,  resolved 
Long  prayers  and  penances  must  purge  his  soul 
From  that  one  moment's  lapse  of  sanctity  ; 
She,  with  uplifted  face  and  radiant  brow, 
And  saying  in  her  clear,  melodious  voice, 
As  all  the  children  flocked  about  her,  —  "  Ay, 
Thank  you,  my  darlings,  —  see,  I  am  unhurt ! 
*T  is  time  to  go  !  " 

And  as  she  moved  away, 
Holding  a  happy  child  by  either  hand, 
All   her   rejoicing   soul   cried   out,  — "  He    loves 

me  ! 

All,  all  is  well,  —  oh,  passing,  passing  well ! 
Dear  Lord  be  praised,  through  all  eternity ! " 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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PS 

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